Not What You Think You Need, What You Require
by Rahne4227
Summary: After returning from the Ministry, Harry tried to avoid his own thoughts. Is this as safe a place as it seems? Can it be that safe when he's followed by his enemy? Why won't the Room of Requirement cooperate? Rating upped for sexuality, just in case
1. Ch 1 Requirement

Rowling owns, I do not. Any questions?

H/D, just to see if I can. Admittedly OOC, but really, aren't most slash stories? End of OOTP, after the return from the Ministry. Things have calmed down, and then this happens.

Harry stalked the fifth floor corridor with heavy footfalls. These days, the bad temper was preferable to the terrible ache that seemed to follow him around like Peeves, whispering recriminations and accusations in his ear. "Shouldn't have gone to the Ministry, Harry, why didn't you open the package sooner, didn't Sirius say that's what it was for? Communicating with him when there was no other way?" It was the same thing his brain had been saying to him for the last few days; nothing new, but it still cut just as deep.

Harry tried to bring his feet down a little harder, make a little more noise. It wasn't after hours, and he was perfectly within his rights to be walking around on his own, but the sound of footsteps behind him still sent a panic-jolt through his body, and he started to sprint forward. The following feet sped up as well, and Harry dove behind a tapestry to the stairs he knew were hidden there. He took them three at a time, not daring to look behind him. After his five years of sneaking around Hogwarts, the desire to avoid getting caught alone in the corridors by teachers, Filch or rival students became something like instinct.

Finding himself on the seventh floor, Harry gratefully beat feet to the portrait of the daft wizard being clubbed by trolls in tutus. Pacing back and forth three times, he wished for a place to be safe, where no one could hurt him. The door to the Room of Requirement seemed to sprout from the stone wall, and just as the labored breathing and running steps of a very determined pursuer rounded a corner, Harry closed the door with a sigh of relief.

He collapsed face-down onto a squashy pile of cushions, the same cushions they used to break their falls during DA meetings. Flinging his glasses carelessly on a conveniently close low table, he used the sleeve of his robe to mop his streaming face. Two floors worth of stairs at top speed, even with the adrenal kick of panic, is quite exhausting. As his breathing slowed and his heart pounded in his chest again instead of in his head, he became aware of another sound.

Someone else was in the room with him, just as winded.

A second kick of adrenaline ran through Harry, and he spun around on his pile of cushions. At first seeing nothing but a black and pale blur, he snatched his glasses from the table and shoved them in front of his eyes. Draco Malfoy was leaned against the blank stone wall where the door ought to be; he was red-faced and trying not to hold the stitch in his side.

Both boys just glared at each other for the thirty or so seconds it took their lungs to recover from the chase. Draco was the first to speak.

"Good thing you don't fly as slow as you run, Potter, or Gryffindor games would last for days!"

"I'll out-fly you any day, Malfoy, and out-run you, for that matter." Harry retorted, as he struggled to his feet. His body felt wiped out from the run, and the panic-high was wearing off; but it felt extremely weird to be lying on a pile of pillows with Malfoy in the room. Something was wrong here, but he couldn't quite figure out what it was, yet. Well, Malfoy himself was wrong here, but that wasn't it. "What do you want, anyway, why did you start chasing me?"

"Why did you run?" sneered Malfoy.

Harry was irritated. "Is there no other expression on your face, _ever?_ Do you make that face at your mother?" When the look on Malfoy's face turned to surprise and anger, Harry laughed bitterly. "Ooh, mustn't talk about your mother, right? No matter how many insults you've given me about my parents?" Harry shook with his own rage now. Here in the Room of Requirement, there was no chance of a teacher coming along and spoiling his chance to get back at Malfoy for so many things. This fight is exactly what I need, thought Harry, as he drew his wand.

Malfoy was ready, and he brought his wand up. "Famous Potter, looking for a real fight? No one will save you here, you know!"

"Same to you, Ferret-face!" shouted Harry, and waved his wand to send the first hex. "Petrificus Totalus!" Malfoy's cry of "Rictus Sempra!" was almost simultaneous.

The effect was more than a little startling, to both boys. Nothing happened. Nothing at all. Not so much as a spark flew from either wand.

There they both were, still in the poses that signified that spells had been cast. Both were braced for hexes that never hit. Astounded, Harry stepped back a pace, keeping a wary eye on Malfoy who looked just as bewildered. When Harry examined his wand for damage, he found none. Cautiously, since he remembered how Ron's poorly repaired wand was apt to behave, he said "Lumos?" His wand tip lit, just as it always did. What the hell was going on here?

"What have you done to my wand, Potter?" Malfoy was livid. He kept pointing it at Harry, muttering curses and hexes, and a whole lot of nothing kept happening.

"Try something that _doesn't_ involve hurting me, moron." Harry said impatiently, catching on to what was happening. Malfoy conjured a shower of green sparks, and the blond boy looked even angrier.

"Are you saying that this stupid room won't even let me duel with you? I'll have to get you out in the corridor, then." Draco spun on his heel to face the blank wall. "I want out of here right now!"

Now Harry realized what was really bothering him. The door they had come through had disappeared! With a sinking feeling, Harry remembered what his desire had been as he paced in front of the Room's magical entrance. _I want a place where I'm safe, where no one can hurt me_ is what he'd repeated to himself, but his inner mind, where the pain and loss still lived had added a qualifier. _And where I can't hurt anyone else._ He groaned. "I didn't mean _him!_" Harry muttered. Malfoy looked at Harry like he was stark raving mad.

"Malfoy, tell me. What did you think about when you were looking for the door to where I was hiding?"

"I wanted to get to you, and I didn't want you to get away from me; a place where we wouldn't be interrupted."

"And in that sneaky, Slytherin mind of yours, it was a place with _no way out?_"

"Isn't that what I just…said…" Malfoy's voice trailed off, and an expression of horror drifted across his face. "Does that mean we're stuck here?"

Harry started to laugh helplessly, even as his eyes felt hot and prickly with tears. "I don't know," he gasped between giggles. "Not even Dumbledore knows how this room really works." Ashamed of the wetness on his face, but still shaking with laughter, Harry stumbled around to the other side of the big pile of cushions. Anything to put some distance between himself and Malfoy. He didn't feel right turning his back on his enemy, but there was no way around that, and the room seemed to have taken care of that.

From behind him, Harry heard Malfoy ask, "How long will…" in a tone that had a little actual fear in it. Harry wasn't able to worry about it just now, though, as he tried to get control of himself. But the next thought he had, after he said it out loud to Draco, sent him into howls of desperate laughter.

"Who knows; after all, it's the end of term. Maybe we'll be here until the new school year starts!"

Harry's laughter was almost drowned out by Draco Malfoy's shriek of denial.

Reviews of all kinds are welcome. If I want to write more, I will. Might be slashy in future, but obviously clean right now.


	2. Ch 2 Harry's Questions

Still G-rated, still building up to who-knows-what, but I'm just happy to be writing _something._ R&R, won't we? Before I forget: Rowling owns, not me.

Ch 2 Harry's Questions

For Harry Potter, the Room of Requirement had been a safe haven. It was a place he could get together with his friends, where they could challenge themselves and learn 'forbidden' spells when the Ministry had taken over the rest of the school. The Room always seemed to have exactly what he needed, close to hand, at just the right moment. Before Umbridge had arrived, the castle had been home in a way the Dursley's could never be. As his fifth year progressed, however, everything that had made Hogwarts livable was stripped away until he was left with one room.

During the DA meetings, the Room was large, bigger than some classrooms were on the lower floors. Large bookshelves filled some walls, while other walls were covered with devices to detect and defeat evil and Dark Wizards. Plump pillows and cushions lay in a convenient pile, just waiting to break a fall so no spell would be out of the question. It seemed to anticipate what he wanted, what he needed, and provided it. A feeling of benevolent observation filled the Room of Requirement.

When Harry was there, his friends were there, waiting for him to teach, to guide them in ways to help keep them and others safe from the terrible sort of events he had faced far too often.

How could he help but feel at home in such a room?

Now, though, it was smaller, only about the size of his dorm room in Gryffindor Tower. No beds, though, just the same heap of cushions in the middle of the room. The walls were covered with strange tapestries; not enchanted, just dusty and ancient looking. Nothing moved. The only sound was the other person trapped in the strangely behaving Room of Requirement.

Malfoy. Draco _bloody_ Malfoy.

What the hell was going on? The Room of Requirement usually just made whatever you wanted appear; so where was the door? Why wouldn't it let them out? Harry sure as hell didn't want to spend the last days of term stuck in a tiny room with his second-worst enemy, and Malfoy wasn't wild about it either.

Of course, what was making Malfoy nuts was the fact that neither of them could hex the other. Other spells seemed to work, but nothing they did could hurt the other, and nothing they tried could make a door appear to let them out. It was impossible to tell how long they'd been stuck; Harry's watch was in his trunk in Gryffindor Tower, and Malfoy didn't seem to bother with such a Muggle-inspired device. That was Harry's theory, anyway.

The only concession the Room seemed willing to make so far was food and water. It appeared on a rickety wooden table, much like the food from the kitchens appeared in the Great Hall. Two plates appeared, with cutlery for two, and a modest variety of dishes.

Harry smelled the gravy first. When he looked around, there was dinner, all laid out on the table. He jumped to his feet, crossing the distance to the food in five steps. There were mashed potatoes and gravy, a generous pile of beef roast slices, a bowl of mixed steamed vegetables, warm steaming bread and a pitcher each of milk and pumpkin juice. There was another bottle on the table, but Harry was too hungry to investigate it just now.

He carried his plate back to the nest he'd made for himself; a separate stack of cushions against the wall. As Harry dug into the food with gusto, he watched Malfoy. The blond boy had hardly moved since they had figured out they were trapped. Malfoy had railed against the blank wall, shouting threats and promising vengeance, even bruising his fists pounding on the uncaring stones. After he'd had enough of that he'd thrown himself down on the floor, avoiding the cushions, and scowled. From time to time, there was something like a mutter, but he'd been silent for the most part.

Harry was eating, and watching Draco Malfoy. The pointed face was turned resolutely away from the table and away from Harry, but the rich aroma of the spices in the meat and the obviously freshly baked bread was filling the entire room. However long it had been, it was definitely past dinner time. True to form, however, Draco was being stubborn.

"Why aren't you eating?" Harry asked. He tore open a warm roll and dipped it into the gravy trying to escape his plate.

Malfoy glared over the stack of pillows. "I don't see why I should just accept being held against my will in this ridiculous cell." He turned away again. "Besides, I'm not hungry."

"Suit yourself, but we don't know how long it's going to be before we get out of here." Harry stood and walked to the table for another roll. With his hunger almost sated, he took a closer look at the mysterious bottle. "Hey, this is fire whiskey!"

"No way!" Exclaimed Malfoy, leaping to his feet. He rushed over to the table and snatched the bottle away from Harry.

Harry was startled; shocked, even. "You've never had fire whiskey? I would have thought…"

Malfoy's flushed a little bit. "Of course I have, nothing is denied me. I was just surprised that it would be here, that's all." He acted nonchalant as he put the bottle down, then picked up a plate. "I know better than to drink fire whiskey on an empty stomach," he said, looking haughty as he heaped it high with food. It was still hot.

_ He just didn't want to eat because I said so,_ Harry thought as he went back to his own plate.

The whole situation felt bizarre to Harry. Here he was, having a calm quiet dinner across the room from Draco Malfoy, but he, Harry, felt perfectly safe. The room's enchantment was keeping him imprisoned and unable to magically defend himself, but the sense of protection he got in the Room of Requirement felt like more than that. This little stint was the first bit of peace and quiet Harry had had since he got back from the Ministry of Magic. Since Sirius had fallen through the veil. There was something else the Room seemed to be doing. The terrible truth that had come out in Dumbledore's office, the things that he'd probably need to do to defeat the Dark Lord felt far away. He could think about it, but instead of the thoughts stealing the air from his body, it was just _there._ He could put them aside, or not.

At first Harry worried about the serene feeling, afraid it might be something sinister, but it wasn't threatening. _Would I know if it was dangerous? I trusted my own instincts before, and it turned out so badly._

"What are you staring at, Potter?"

Harry snapped out of his reverie, realizing that he was staring blankly in Malfoy's direction. Now it was his turn to go red. "I wasn't staring, not at you. Just thinking. Does that bother you?" Harry retorted with an edge to his voice.

"Well, stop thinking at me. I'm eating, and you make me ill." The blond boy went back to shoveling potatoes into his mouth.

"Is it a habit?" asked Harry.

Malfoy stopped for a moment. After swallowing, he said, "Is what a habit?"

"The insults, the cruel remarks. Do you decide which one to use each time, or do they just come naturally?"

"What the hell are you talking about?"

Harry leaned forward. "I'll slow down for you. Do you –ever--say anything--to anybody—without something poisonous coming out as well?"

"Why do you keep asking me things like that? What business is it of yours how I behave?" But his pale, pointed face looked discomfited.

Before he answered, Harry got up again, took his plate to the table. He picked up the bottle of fire whiskey and opened it. There were two more cups, and he filled them both more than half full. Without asking, he walked over to his fellow prisoner and offered it. Malfoy looked up at him distrustfully, but didn't take the cup. With a shrug, Harry put it down next to the plate on the floor, then went back to his own cushions on the other side of the room. After a first cautious sip, Harry drank deeply. His throat burned and he coughed a little bit, but it wasn't too bad. Draco Malfoy was watching him warily.

"Because I've been thinking a lot about choices lately. And one thing I wanted to figure out is why people would choose to be evil." Harry regarded Malfoy levelly.

X x X

Hey, thanks to Arwen-Evenstar-Elf for a review. Also, I'm still getting the hang of the whole format thing on this site, so bear with me.


	3. Ch 3 Getting to Veritas

Ch 3 Getting to Veritas

Draco Malfoy was having a tough day. Granted, it was good that the stupid OWL exams were over with. But when he'd received the note from his mother, everything had started to go down hill. It was bad enough that his father was a Death Eater, but to be caught at it, in the _Ministry of Magic_ itself, was just too much.

Oh, Lucius Malfoy the Suspected Death Eater sounded good, especially when your family was powerful enough that nothing actually stuck, but the reality of it was a different story. A Malfoy in Azkaban; unthinkable!

And it was all Potter's fault.

So when Draco saw Potter wandering aimlessly through the fifth floor halls all alone, it seemed like the perfect time to get a little revenge. If Draco had thought about it a little more, he might not have kept up the chase. After all, he was alone too, but the sight of that messy black hair and oh-so-noble look made little red sparks flash in front of Draco's eyes. He was so angry, he just wanted to get to Potter, to have a chance to really do some damage in a place where no one would find them, and where Potter couldn't escape from him.

Now they were both stuck. Both of them had gotten part of what they wanted. Potter got a place where he couldn't be harmed, and Draco got a place where his enemy couldn't get away from him. What confused Draco was that Potter couldn't seem to hurt him, and why wouldn't the room let Malfoy escape either?

So they sat there. Potter had lost his mind once they realized what had happened, but seemed to be calmer now. He even tried to order Draco to eat, like that would work. But the fire whiskey was enough incentive, so he was finally able to eat.

Why was Potter staring at him like that? Why did he keep asking those stupid questions?

"What the hell is that supposed to mean, Potter?" Malfoy spat, narrowing his eyes at his enemy. "Who are you to judge what evil is?"

Harry looked back at him without blinking. "What do you call evil, then?"

The question again took Draco aback. "What?"

Harry took a sip from his cup of fire whiskey without looking away from the blond boy. _This could be interesting,_ he thought.

The strength of Potter's gaze made Draco uncomfortable. He took a large swallow of fire whiskey. The heat of it made him choke and cough, much to his consternation. He leaned over his knees, hacking and turning red, eyes tearing up. He reached for the cup he just put down, and found a different one, filled with water, right next to it. He drank it gratefully. The water was cold and clean; just what he needed.

Malfoy didn't look up for a few moments. Once the coughing let up, he was expecting to hear Potter laughing at him. When he did raise his face, the tousle-haired boy was still just looking at him calmly.

"Are you okay?"

"What does it matter to you?" The words were out of Malfoy's mouth without him even needing to think them.

"I'd rather not see anyone else die, thanks," said Harry.

Malfoy snorted. "Right, like you'd cry if I dropped dead."

Now it was Harry's turn to look away. "I don't want to see _anyone_ die." The images of Cedric's body, one second standing, the next second dead on the ground, flashed through Harry's mind. His parent's spirits, all the people felled by Voldemort's wand, and Sirius. His surprised look, then the slow fall through the mysterious veil in the Department of Mysteries. The thoughts hurt; he shoved them away. With a distant sort of surprise, they left easily, and his mind was clear and quiet again. Well, almost clear. The fire whiskey was having an effect, it seemed. He drank again, more deeply than he meant to; and started wheezing.

Malfoy _did_ laugh, but it didn't sound as malicious as Harry had heard him before. Even Harry laughed a little, once he got breath back. "Guess I didn't learn from your mistake." He craned his neck up a little bit to see over the pile of cushions. "Where did you get the water?"

Malfoy looked at the cup. "I thought I got it from _you._" When Harry shook his head, Draco shrugged. "I guess the room provided it. I needed it more than you, if you didn't get it."

"That's strange. This is the Room of Requirement, but it seems to pick and choose," said Harry, gesturing at the conspicuously blank wall where the door ought to be. "Nice of it to give us have this, even if it's trying to kill both of us." He raised his fire whiskey cup in a mock toast.

Draco raised his cup too. "How much do you have left in yours?" A hint of challenge crept into his voice.

"About half," said Harry, peering at it. He lifted the bottle. "You want a refill?" At Draco's nod, Harry filled his own, nearly to the top, then got up on his knees to pass the bottle.

Once they both had full cups, they locked eyes. A gauntlet had been thrown; the battle flags were flying, and it would only end with bottoms up. Despite themselves, they'd both started to grin.

"Ready?"

"Yes! Set!"

"_Go!"_

X x X 

Short, I know. But we're finally getting to the real set up, you know, to the point. Let me know what is thought about it. I'm changing the description and rating to make it a bit more clear what the hell is going to go on once I decide to get to the friggin point.


	4. Ch 4 Off Balance

BTW, JKR Owns. I do not.

Ch 4 Off Balance

The fire whiskey didn't seem as hot now. It still tasted terrible, but when you were just letting it flow down your throat, swallowing instinctively, it was just easy.

Neither Draco Malfoy or Harry Potter was willing to stop first. The carved, wooden cups they held were not large, but there was something about the fire whiskey that felt dangerous. After the first half was gone, something in Harry's mind said that it was a deeply stupid thing to do, to drink so much so fast of such a strong drink. But the stubborn look on Malfoy's face made him keep going.

Malfoy's pale, pointed face was turning red, but he was not stopping. Two thirds of the cup was empty now, and it felt like forever since he'd taken a breath. To make things worse, he was starting to feel a little dizzy. Despite his boasting words earlier, his only previous taste of fire whiskey had been stolen, during one of his parent's rare social occasions. He had no experience with deep drinking, and had never been drunk before.

Harry was the first to stop drinking; his cup had only about half an inch left of the amber liquid. Panting, he set the cup on the ground in front of him, followed almost immediately by Draco.

Malfoy's look was triumphant at first. Then his eyes went out of focus and he leaned forward, putting both hands on the cold stone in front of him for support.

"Whoa."

Concerned, Harry tried to get up. The blood rushing to his head caused him to collapse back down again, somehow landing between the piles of pillows. "Are, are you okay?" he asked from his place on the floor.

"I'm fine, I'll be fine, no problem," Said Draco, leaning farther forward to put his cheek against the floor. "I'm just so hot suddenly."

"It is warm, isn't it? I wish there were a fan or a breeze or something." Harry spoke most of this into a pillow, as his arms were not obeying his stern commands to push him up off the ground. His glasses were digging into the sides of his nose, so once he got his face out of the cushion, he whipped them off, rubbing at the sore places. When Harry looked around without his glasses, all he could see were splotches of color. This wasn't anything new, that had been true as long as he could remember. Only now, for some reason, it was wildly funny.

Draco looked up at the sound of Harry's giggles. "Hey, have you lost it again?" Or at least, that's what he meant to say. It came out more like, "Ey, you wostit agin?" When he didn't get a response, Draco carefully got up on his knees to peer over the heap of cushions.

To Harry, it was like watching a white ball of fuzz rising from the other colors of fuzz. It only made him laugh harder, especially when his mind added Draco Malfoy's mad face to the blur like a cartoon.

Draco was kind of mad. He didn't like being laughed at, especially when he didn't know what for. Intending to get to the other side of the mound to see what the joke was, he started crawling. It was so difficult, for some strange reason, just to make his way across some pillows. But when he tried to stand up, his feet wouldn't stay underneath him, so he crawled. As he was trying to make his way, he saw Harry put his glasses back on. The black haired boy's laughter died as he saw what Draco was doing.

Of course, once Draco had started his all-fours trek across the cushions, it had become an end to itself. It took all his concentration just to keep from falling over. "When did this room get so damn big?" he muttered, not realizing he was speaking out loud.

That set Harry off again, and he giggled madly, watching his nemesis struggling to keep his balance. But Harry moved towards Draco, intending to help.

"Where are you going, Malfoy?" During one of his course corrections, the blond boy had gotten turned, and he was busily trying to crawl up the high pile, instead of making his way towards Harry.

Draco lifted one hand to point in the direction he was going, and promptly tipped over. Frustrated now, he let himself fall, rolling down the side of the seemingly huge pile of cushions.

"Graaaahhhr!" He yelled, his wordless cry echoing only slightly in the small room. Grabbing the nearest pillow, he flung it around, hitting whatever he could without losing his grip. On the second or third swing, he caught Harry a solid blow on the shoulder and sent him flying.

Landing unharmed in the center of the pile, Harry retaliated with a thrown pillow. It struck Draco in the chest. Draco's look of surprise was so comical that Harry started giggling again, only to be stopped by a pillow to the face.

How long the pillow-fight went on was impossible to judge, but before long, both boys were red-faced and gasping. The cushions had been totally redistributed, so there was a carpet of them covering the entire floor of the small room.

"Who won that?" asked Malfoy. They were again on different sides of the room, but the pile between them was gone, and they were both sprawled on top of the newly-cushioned floor.

"Who cares?" groaned Harry, looking straight up at the ceiling. "All I know is, if this room doesn't let us out soon, these pillows won't be fit for anything."

Now Draco giggled. "Is the fire whiskey bottle empty?"

"No, it's not, and _eeeew."_

Draco blushed. What had made him say that? Now Harry would think he was gross like that. _I must still be really drunk,_ he thought.

Harry spoke again. "But if we don't get access to a bathroom soon, it'll have to do." There was a pause, then Harry sat up a bit, propping himself on his elbow so he could look at his fellow captive. His green eyes were still unfocused behind his glasses, and there was a flush to his cheeks, but his tone was serious. "This is going to sound a bit weird, but maybe if we both wish for it…" He trailed off.

Draco sat up too, coming to a cross-legged position. His face settled into a solemn expression. He placed his wrists on his knees, slowly and deliberately. He closed his eyes, made a circle with the fingers on each hand and said, "Oooohhhmmm," in as deep a voice as he could manage. He opened one eye just enough to see Harry's reaction, and collapsed into giggles, losing his mock-meditation pose.

Harry laughed too, but he'd gotten a strange feeling watching Draco do that. "Hey, do it again. Maybe if we both do it, we'll get a bucket or something."

It took some doing, for both of them to maintain the serious pose for more than a few seconds. They did it, though.

With both of them concentrating, eyes closed and saying "Ohm," anything at all could have happened in that room. What did happen, was that a door appeared. Not in the wall both of them had originally come through, but on the other side of the room It was a plain, wooden door, much like the rest of the doors in the castle. Except this one had a silver crescent moon attached to it. The appearance of the door made no sound; nothing moved in the room.

Harry decided to chance a peek, and opened his eyes. With a shout of joy, he tried to leap to his feet and rush to the door. He managed it, but only barely, as the treacherous cushions tried to slide out from under him. When he reached it, he pushed against the door and revealed a full bathroom and toilet facilities, tastefully separated by carved wooden dividers. It looked a bit like the prefect's bathroom as Harry had seen it in his fourth year, but older.

He turned to announce the find to Draco, and was startled to find that he was directly behind him, also inspecting the facilities from the doorway. The were only inches apart.

Suddenly shy and uncertain, Harry gestured for Draco to precede him. "I can wait, if you need to use it first," Harry said, trying very hard to ignore his increasing need to pee.

"No, you need it more than I do, right now," Said Draco unexpectedly. Then he grinned wolfishly. "Besides, if you take too long, I'll use the fire whiskey bottle."

"Don't you _dare!_" cried Harry, vowing to take as little time as he could.

X x X

Could be my longest chapter yet. Also, reviews are requested. They don't have to be long, they don't have to be ConCrit; a simple, "Rox!", "Sux!", or "Meh." Will suffice. Am I taking too long to get to whatever it is you want to see in a story like this? Am I doing terrible characterization? Am I skipping something all together? Tell me, and I'll listen. You may not get what you want, but you might. I could do a Stones quote here, but I'd rather not date myself unnecessarily.


	5. Ch 5 Harry's Veritas

Ch 5 Harry's Veritas

Harry was in and out of the bathroom in record time. In the quiet, cooler environment, his spinning head seemed to quiet a little bit, but things were still very much out of focus. Out of habit, he checked his glasses, but they were still perched on the bridge of his nose. Harry lay back on the pillows near the middle of the room and stared lazily up at the ceiling. His head was buzzing, almost like he was dizzy, but not quite the same. The fire whiskey battle and the pillow-fight had only ended a few minutes ago, but it felt like hours.

It wasn't his eyes, but his perceptions that were skewed. They must have been stuck in this bizarre version of the Room of Requirement for at least four hours now, but it also felt like it might be a full day. The sheer timelessness of the place was disorienting, never mind the other events that were so beyond normal it was a bit frightening.

Here I am, thought Harry. I'm trapped in this room that doesn't want to let us out, and I'm trapped here with Draco Malfoy, one of the worst people I could imagine being stuck with. So why am I not desperate to get out? Why do I feel like every thing is okay for the first time in months, really?

The battle in the Ministry, in the Department of Mysteries, seemed far away. It still hurt to think of Sirius, and the reason for Sirius and the other Order members being there had been his fault, all because he'd refused to believe that the vision could be false. But here, in this place, when the hurt got too much, his brain was allowing him to put those thoughts away for awhile. The desperation to stay guilty was gone, at least for now.

As Harry lay there, lost in thought, Draco emerged from the lavatory room. He was unsteady as he made his way back to the side of the room he'd claimed for himself. Draco propped himself against the wall, staring at nothing in particular. His eyes drifted around aimlessly. Sometimes his head tipped to the side and he snapped it back up with a little shake. He realized Harry, lying on his back with his head towards Draco, was staring at him upside down.

"Why do you keep looking at me like that?" Draco asked uncomfortably. "You were asking me all those weird questions before, too."

Without changing his position, Harry just said the first thing that came to mind. "Because I wish you didn't act the way that you do."

This truly threw Draco for a loop. "You – you wish I didn't act – like what?"

"Like every one else is so much less than you are."

"But - " Draco's first reply to a statement like this might have been "But I don't act like that," or "What's wrong with that?" or even "But it's true." He wasn't even clear on why he didn't answer that way. Something stopped him; not from speaking, but from using the ingrained reply. The truth was, he'd never been asked something like that before. How should he reply?

"But that's what my family - " he stalled out again. Draco drew a deep breath, trying to get his brain to respond. "Our Pureblood family has been – "

"Don't give me that Pureblood crap," said Harry, but his voice wasn't accusatory, or even angry. "There's a whole bunch of reasons I could give you about why 'pure blood' is more dangerous than mixed blood, but actual reason doesn't seem to be any good with –" and Harry stopped himself short of adding, "you people," as that would completely undermine his point. Instead, he rolled over so he could look at Draco right-side up again. This made the blood rush back out of his head, and he grayed out for a few moments. There was a noise from Draco's direction, but Harry didn't really notice.

"Well," said Draco after a few quiet moments, "how do you think I should act?" the superior tone was creeping back into his voice.

"How about taking people one at a time, not throwing them into a stupid group?"

"Yeah, well, what about you?"

Harry looked up again. "What do you mean, what about me?"

"You're always so much better than everyone else. Nothing ever sticks to you, every time you get in trouble, you just laugh your way out of it!" Draco's voice was a bit raspy, and his face was flushed.

Suddenly breathless with anger, Harry staggered to his feet and made his way over to Draco. He held his right hand out in front of the blond boy's face. The scars from Umbridge's terrible quill were still white and very visible.

"I must not tell lies, that's what this says. How dare you say I get out unscathed? I told the truth, to anyone who would listen, and this is what I got for it! This isn't even the worst, believe me."

Draco stared at Harry's hand for a second, then dropped his gaze. His eyes fell on the cup of water, miraculously still standing there, and he seized it gratefully. He sipped from it carefully, taking the opportunity to keep from looking at Harry, who sat back down, but now he sat next to Draco, separated by a cushion.

Now that they weren't facing each other, the quiet seemed a little easier.

But he felt the need to get something else across to Mister Draco Malfoy, who's father had been one of the ones trying to kill Harry in that graveyard the year previous. Now was the time to speak these things, now or never.

Harry tipped his head back and leaned it against the wall, so his eyes were pointed at the top of the opposite wall. He spoke quietly, his voice emotionless to begin with. He talked about a couple of his earliest memories; Dudley's early mindless cruelty, then his very deliberate cruelty. His aunt and uncle's sheer uncaring attitudes, their heartless remarks about his parents, about him. He mentioned briefly his first encounter with the magical world in Hagrid.

"You have to understand. I didn't know anything about pure-blood, or half-breeds, or any of that. Here was the first person I had literally met, in my entire life, who thought I was worth anything, who knew my parents and thought they were worth anything." Harry smiled at the memory. "And he gave Dudley a pigs tail, that makes him a hero no matter what."

Draco chuckled, then quickly muffled it. Oh, at least he's still awake, thought Harry, then went on with his story.

"Did you know you were the first wizard my own age I'd ever met? At Madam Malkin's, do you remember?"

"I remember."

"One of the first things I ever heard you say was something cruel about Hufflepuff House. I immediately thought that you were just like my awful cousin. And no matter what, all you ever did was prove me right about that, only you are way smarter than he is." Harry sighed. "Is there any of that water left?"

"Here." Draco handed it across the empty space; neither of them turned their heads.

Harry sipped, then drank deeply, pleased that the Room at least provided cold water. His eyelids were getting heavy, and he didn't feel like talking anymore. Not everything had been said, but Harry was finally out of energy. Draco's silence was a little disturbing. Harry figured Malfoy would be defending himself, or something. Why should someone like that change his ways just because of a drunken conversation?

"Because en vino veritas." Said Malfoy.

"What?" mumbled Harry, who hadn't realized he'd been speaking aloud.

"Never mind. Go to sleep, Potter. I don't think we're getting out of here till morning at least."

"Cold…"

"Well, don't sleep against the wall, that's why you're cold," Draco said, irritated. He swung his gaze around the room, and saw that under the table that had provided dinner, there were a couple blankets, neatly folded. He sighed, and got up to get them.

When he got back with the blankets, Harry had slid sideways down the wall, with his back still to the stone. Growling a little, Draco tried to think of a way to get Harry away from the wall that didn't actually involve touching him. In the end he settled for grabbing the cushion that the black haired boy was mostly on and dragging it towards the center of the room. Then he threw another pillow behind Harry, who was obviously already asleep, to keep him from rolling onto the floor. Then Draco threw one of the blankets across Harry, not bothering to unfold it completely.

"He'll figure it out himself," he muttered, then made himself a place to sleep in the center of the room. He didn't fall right to sleep, though. The buzzing in his head from the fire whiskey was replaced by something else, something he'd never experienced before.

It seemed like hours before he finally drifted off.

X x X

This one is a bit more internal. Thanks and cookies and magical internets to the almighty reviewers! Keep 'em coming!


	6. Ch 6 Lessons from Spirits

Rowling Owns, not me. Got it? Good!

Ch 6 Lessons from Spirits

Harry was completely disoriented when he drifted into consciousness again. It felt like he'd only been asleep for a few minutes, but it must have been a couple of hours. His head pounded in rhythm with his heart, which felt like it was far bigger and louder than usual. His nose hurt inexplicably, and the air he was breathing tasted used and dead. After a few moments of confusion, he was able to raise his head. He'd rolled onto his stomach in his sleep, and his face had been hovering only a centimeter or so from the floor, supported by the pillows on either side. He was also still wearing his glasses, which explained his sore nose. In fact, that was one of the most disorienting things; being able to see right away upon waking.

Picking his head up had the effect of making the throbbing worse, but that was just too bad, because he really needed the lavatory. When he went to stand up, though, he was surprised to find Malfoy a few feet away. The blond boy was still dead-asleep and snoring very quietly. Taking care not to wake Draco, Harry kicked cushions out of the way until he had a clear path to the restroom.

With that problem addressed, Harry returned to the pillow-strewn room and looked around. The far wall was still conspicuously lacking an exit door, but the small table in the other corner now held a cut-glass pitcher and two of the carved wooden cups. There was also a small amber vial on the table. Harry, astonished, found that the vial contained four small white pills that looked suspiciously like Muggle analgesics.

Not trusting them right away, he examined the bottle a bit more closely. On the side was etched the word 'willow-bark' in a utilitarian script. "Brilliant, aspirin!" said Harry, then grabbed the sides of his head. "Oww…" He swallowed two of the pills and washed them back with the cold water from the pitcher. They weren't magic, but he reckoned they'd work almost as well, given a little time. He finished the cup of water, then went back to his sleeping place and lay back down. Harry wrapped himself tightly in the blanket he didn't remember getting; was the room capable of dropping a blanket on him while he slept? He was asleep again almost instantly.

When Draco Malfoy awoke an hour later, his immediate thought was also for the restroom, but with an added reason. His stomach twisted and cramped, and the pulsing in his skull was definitely second priority. He ran for the restroom door, tripping over the threshold in his haste.

Draco arrived at the toilet in the nick of time, as the heaving became impossible to resist. His whole body seemed to join in the convulsion, and through the muscle spasms, his head felt like it wanted to split in half. The agony was so great, Draco almost wished it would, but then another cramp from his stomach told him it was time to concentrate on throwing up.

This time when Harry woke up his head was much clearer, and his glasses were safely on the floor right next to the wall. He could hear sounds coming from the other room. He unwound the blanket from around him and retrieved his glasses. He saw that Draco was not sleeping, so it was he who was making the racket in the bathroom. Harry padded over to the door, but was hesitant about opening it. What if Draco was…he felt the blood rush to his face at the thought. But this close to the door, it was apparent that the Slytherin boy was puking his guts out.

Harry pushed the door open as quietly as he could, peeking around it. There was Draco Malfoy, on his knees in front of the porcelain bowl. His elbows were resting on the sides, and he supported his head in his hands. He was gasping for breath, and tears streamed down his pale cheeks. A sound like a sob escaped him. His whole body went rigid, as if electrified, and the heaves took him again. There was nothing left to expel; after an agonizing forty seconds, he was able to unclench, toppling onto his side.

Standing behind the door, Harry watched his 'nemesis' panting for breath, exhausted and hurting. Throughout the years they'd been enemies at school, he'd had many occasions to wish suffering on Draco Malfoy. Seeing it now, though, didn't give Harry any pleasure, and he wished there was something he could do. There was nothing, aside from offering a word of comfort. He stepped tentatively all the way into the room.

"Are you okay? There's some-" He began.

Draco's head snapped up. His eyes were wide and streaming, his pale face showed his exhaustion, but now it also showed humiliation and anger. "Get out of here!" He croaked, unable to make his abused throat and vocal chords obey. "I bet this is _funny_ to you, isn't it, Potter! Just _get out!"_ He might have continued yelling, for his mouth kept moving, but there was no sound behind it. Once he realized this, his face fell even further, and he curled up into a ball.

Harry could tell that Draco was crying in earnest now, and to attempt to help would only make things worse. He turned on his heel and walked out of the bathing room. Draco's outburst didn't really upset him too much; Harry of all people knew what it felt like to be helpless, and he knew the helpless rage of being humiliated in front of people. He did want to help, though, and this surprised him more than anything. It seemed that the blond boy was done vomiting, so maybe the willow bark would stay down. He went to the table, filled a cup of water, which was still cold, and picked up the vial. He went back into the other room.

There was Draco, still in the fetal position, holding his head in his hands. Quietly Harry set the items on the floor an arm's length away from the prone boy. "This will help the headache. Take it, then come and lay down on the cushions. Trust me, it's more comfortable." Without waiting for a response, Harry left again.

He sat back down, deliberately choosing a spot where he wouldn't be facing the bathroom. There was time now to wonder at the situation. Before now, if he'd ever imagined prolonged, close contact with Draco Malfoy, his imagination could never have come up with anything like what was currently going on. At first they had fought, but once it became clear that no one could be hurt in this place, things had become, well, not friendly, but no longer adversarial. There had been a few tense moments, but it was almost...pleasant.

The fire whiskey had been a great help, of course. Harry shuddered a little at the memory of the headache he'd earned for that. Drinking to excess was definitely not something he cared to try again very soon. He imagined Draco felt much the same.

Draco Malfoy. What a puzzle he had become. All of Harry's previous experiences with the boy had been bitter. He'd always felt outnumbered, and the sneer that twisted the pale, pointed features reminded Harry far too much of the contempt his relatives had for him. But here, in this prison-like room, away from his cronies and the watching eyes of the entire school, Draco's face and manner seemed subtly different. Without the look of smug superiority, his gray eyes seemed less cold, his mouth wasn't always pressed into a thin line. He actually looks a bit more mature, thought Harry.

I wonder how I look, Harry thought suddenly. It had been at least a day since he'd bathed, and his usually messy hair must be absolutely frightening. He stood and turned to go into the bathroom again. There was Draco, on the far side of the room, curled up on his side with his back to Harry. Good, thought Harry, at least he won't catch cold. He took a moment to drape one of the blankets over the blond boy, taking care not to disturb him, and purposely not looking to see if he was sleeping or not. If he was sleeping, fine, but if he wants to be alone right now, that was fine too.

Harry's first glimpse of himself in the bathroom mirror drew a short bark of laughter from him. His hair was indeed standing on end in every direction. His clothes bore the distinct marks of having been slept in; rumpled and off-kilter. He was suddenly very aware of how long it had been since his last bath, and there was a tub, right over there. It was a deep and wide tub; not as ornate as the one he'd seen in the prefect's bathroom, but definitely serviceable. There was a curtain that could be drawn to block the view, and a cabinet he'd not previously noticed against one wall. Curious, he looked inside.

He was pleased to discover thick, soft towels neatly folded on one shelf, and a full set of clean clothes that looked to be over sized, but comfortable. They were plain brown linen, clearly from a time long, long ago.

Abruptly nervous, Harry decided to peek once more into the main room. Draco had pulled the blanket over his head, but had not moved otherwise. Satisfied, Harry went back to the tub and turned on the center tap. Out poured hot water, steam instantly rising from it. After some fiddling around with the various taps, he managed to get the temperature comfortable, and one of them ran with a lightly scented water. He couldn't identify the smell just yet, but it wasn't flowery. Even though he knew he was quite alone, he drew the curtain, and was blushing the entire time he was getting undressed. Well, now was not the time to figure out what that was all about, now was the time to get clean.

X x X

Thanks to my mighty reviewers, your cookies and Internets are in the mail, I swear! Reviews fuel the fire, tis true, so the more the better! To answer your question, unforgivable curse caster, I have seen Boondock Saints, an all time fave of mine, but the word Veritas in my brain links to the concept of truth, but an extra biscuit to you for seeing a link! As for the title of this chapter, I wanted to say the Lessons of Wine, but that's not what they were drinking, so I went with Spirits instead. That's why there are no ghosts in this. Wow, I'm breaking my A/N rule.§


	7. Ch 7 Trust Issues

JKR owns HP, I just pwn. Got it:P

Ch 7 Trust Issues

Draco woke up for what felt like the hundredth time in the smallish stone-walled room, whose only door led to a bathroom. He poked his head out from under the plain blanket, trying to look around without being seen. He was alone. All alone. When he realized that Potter wasn't in evidence, the memory of his previous awakening hit him. How many levels of hell was he going to go through in this place? First the drunken night, which was still pretty fuzzy, then the morning after...

He remembered very clearly, dashing into the other room, he remembered puking, he remembered Potter walking in. Potter, who found The Draco Malfoy _hefting_ for all he was worth, and _crying._

_Oh, god,_ he thought. _If my father knew Potter had seen me like that..._ he couldn't finish the thought. There'd be a special kind of hell. The very idea caused fear to flood his veins. Not fear of death, or even physical punishment, but the terror that always accompanied his father's frequent rejection of him. Any deviation from perfection amounted to disgracing his entire family.

And in a Malfoy mind, getting so drunk he was unable to control himself and in front of an enemy, well... Death first, was supposed to be the response to that. Hell, the way they talked about it to Draco, it was literal; like they were actually going to die if such a thing happened. Whenever that crossed his mind unbidden, he tried to tell himself he didn't believe it, but he did. Just a little, but it felt real.

He could imagine Potter's reaction to this – There'd be a snide remark about not being able to hold his liquor, then some mock-puking, and as soon as they got out of this stupid room, he'd tell every one of his lame friends. Draco would never hear the end of it.

_So what do I do now?_ He was all by himself. He could strike first, make sure he got the first attack, so anything Potter said would be just retaliation. He could act like it never happened at all, blame it on the fire whiskey Potter drank, call it an hallucination, or something. Where was Potter?

One more time the events rolled over his mind. Potter walking in, saying something, the Draco had screamed at him to leave. Overcome by his own misery, Draco had hidden his face. His brain had felt like it was being sqeezed by a metal band, and it was made twice as bad by the puking and crying. When he'd looked up, there was a bottle and a cup. Potter must have been the one to bring it in. Come to think of it, he didn't remember getting the blanket, just waking up with it, and thanks to the pills, his headache was almost completely gone. There was just an echo of it.

Where was Potter, anyway? The question had been repeating itself in his mind since he'd woken up. He must be in the bathroom, Draco reasoned. But then a terrible thought occurred to him. What if he'd escaped? What if a door appeared while Draco was asleep, and Potter had left him here to rot all alone? The more he thought about it, the more possible it seemed. After all, just because they'd been civil so far, didn't mean that the Gryffindor boy had forgiven Draco for all of the things that had passed between them over the years. Working himself unconsiously into a panic, Draco leapt up and rushed for the bathroom door. If he was stuck here alone, maybe forever, he'd go insane. He knew that, with a certainty that scared the hell out of him. _If I'm all by myself, I'll die, I know I will..._

"Potter!" He yelled, throwing open the door and plunging through. "Potter!"

Harry heard the yell, and instantly dove for his towel. He wasn't quite fast enough.

"Potter! _Harry!"_ Draco whipped the curtain aside. There was Harry, frozen in shock in the act of picking up the towel. Draco's face went through an almost comical progression of emotions. The first expression of panic gave way to almost a full two seconds of relief and joy, until he realized that Harry was stark naked, and dripping wet. Then his eyes widened and his jaw dropped.

Harry finished his grab and deftly swung the towel around his waist, holding it closed with one hand. "Is-is something wrong?" he stuttered.

"You're still here," said Draco his voice falling away. His brain had shut down completely. He could only think of why he'd come in to the bathroom shouting in the first place. Then he began to process again, and his face flushed, all the way down his neck. "I'll wait outside." He turned and walked unsteadily out of the bathroom again. Draco sat down on a bare patch of floor with his face in his hands. This was just too much.

"Good grief," muttered Harry as he hurriedly dried himself. This was just not his day. Draco was probably still mad about the whole hangover thing, and now he had seen Harry naked. Great. Once he was in the plain brown clothes the Room had provided, he hesitated. What was he supposed to do now? How was he supposed to respond? It wasn't deliberate, that seemed clear. Draco had obviously been upset about something when he burst in. Harry wondered at himself, that finding out what had bothered Draco meant more to him than being exposed to the other boy. Well, it was just another thing that would have to wait until later, when there was time to sort all this out. Harry sighed. The list was getting rather long, for all that there seemed to be nothing but time in this place.

So what to do now?

Harry decided to just see what was going on with Draco, and figure it out from there. He walked through the door and saw the blond boy holding his head again. Here was the first question. Sit down near, or far? Harry's stomach did a somersault. He felt heat flowing up through his innards and surfacing in his neck and face. Lifting his chin, a bit defiant of his body's bizarre behavior, he sat down on the bare floor an arms length away from Draco.

"Are you okay?" Harry hated the stupid question; if you have to ask, isn't the answer usually no? But it made for a comfortable ritual, or as comfortable as a situation like this could get. There was no response. Harry tried a different tack. "What did you mean, you're still here?"

"I thought you might have left me here alone," muffled but understandable.

A little shocked, Harry said, "I wouldn't do that!"

Draco lifted his head. His eyes were reddened, but dry. "Wouldn't you? If I've been so terrible, and then this morning…" he stopped.

Harry had to be honest. "The Draco Malfoy who enjoys watching me being harassed by teachers, the one who calls my friends names and treats people with contempt I might have left here. You've been so different since we got stuck here…"

A bitter laugh interrupted him. "Sure. In here I'm a drunk, and I puked my guts out, crying like a baby, and then I freak out and walk in and…" He stalled again, color rising in his cheeks like a thermometer. Turning his face away, he muttered "I'm surprised I've survived at all."

"What does that mean?" asked Harry, not displeased with the chance to avoid the scene in the bathroom a bit longer. "Is this sort of thing fatal for you?"

"It might as well be," said Draco, an edge to his voice. "There's a long list of things which the Malfoy family could be destroyed by, and if I do any of them, I might just drop dead to keep them from being discovered."

This surprised Harry a bit. Maybe the Malfoy arrogance wasn't genetic, but conditioned. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"Why should I? You have already made up your mind about me anyway."

"How can you say that? Didn't you hear me just a minute ago tell you that I already think differently of you?"

Draco scoffed but said nothing, his eyes still averted.

"I told you things the other night that even my friends don't know about, not in detail. Do you remember any of it?" Harry asked, leaning forward. After Draco nodded, he continued. "I allow myself to change my mind. Even if others never do, I am willing to listen. Besides," Harry laughed, "we can swear that whatever is said in this place won't be mentioned to anyone out there. Would that help?"

"Not an Unbreakable Vow," Draco said at once. Anything that could kill you for speaking was too dangerous to play with.

"Certainly not," agreed Harry, although his only memory of that particular spell was a warning in his Charms textbook. "There ought to be something less severe, but still effective. Could you talk to me, really talk, if there was something like that?"

Draco hesitated. But what did he have to lose, really? There was no getting out of here; at least, not yet. And he needed to talk to somebody. Once he realized this fact, he could feel it physically, like a fist closing around his throat. Only his fear and suspicion kept him from spilling it all out right now, and if a spell could fix that, why not?

"Fine, we'll do that," said Draco. Then he added, trying to add some of his old bravado into his attitude, "although I don't see why you're so interested."

"Good," Harry said with a smile. He stood and glanced around the room. Sure enough, a small bookshelf had appeared on the blank wall where the door had been, what, two days ago? Had it been so long, or so little time ago? Apparently the Room of Requirement could be helpful, but it just wasn't interested in letting them go.

The bookcase itself was old, and not very well made. It had one shelf in the middle, allowing for two rows of books, but it was only about half full, and the dusty tomes were leaning this way and that as if trying to fill the spaces. Harry ran his finger through the dust on the spine of a book titled _Underground Creature Identification_ by Caradoc McClaive. Glancing at the rest of the titles, he spotted a thin volume bound in green leather called _Let No One Hear: A Practical Wizard's Guide to Secret Keeping._

"Perfect!" Harry exclaimed. This could also be a useful book for the Order of the Phoenix, if there was anything in here that hadn't been tried already. "Here's just the book we need." He flipped through the first couple of chapters until his eyes were caught by a mention of the Fidelius charm. That was the spell his parents and Dumbledore had used, trying to keep his family safe. Very advanced, and not quite right for the current enterprise. He skipped ahead again, turning pages quickly.

"Hey, what about that one?" Draco's voice, almost directly in Harry's ear, made Harry jump. He hadn't realized that the blond boy had come up right behind him to read over his shoulder. Now that he knew Draco was there, though, he could feel the presence on his left side as a heat source. Harry's page turning became a bit erratic as he tried to find the one Draco had stopped him on.

"There it is," said Draco, reaching out to tap the page. He never made contact with Harry's shoulder, scrupulously staying an inch or two away from touching.

"Yeah, this one," Harry read the title of the spell. "Fidelentium, and we can limit it to this place. It needs both of us to work part of it. But it's not too advanced, is it?"

In spite of himself, Draco swallowed hard. The spell would make it so that neither of them could speak of anything that happened or was said in this place, without agreeing that it could be spoken. He was running out of ways to dodge talking. Fear surged up in him again; what would Potter think if he knew all of it, the whole truth? Could he even speak of it himself, after so long believing that no one wanted to hear anything he had to say? The fear rolled up through his body, but it met that new knot in his throat. His father's voice floated across Draco's mind. "Malfoys are not afraid; they will always do what they must, or die trying!" For once, it seemed to be the right thing to hear.

"Let's do the spell, and maybe this stupid room will feed us, I'm starving."

Harry laughed in agreement, and Draco smiled back. They read the directions in the book carefully, then followed the directions. They sat on the ground facing each other, almost knee to knee. In their right hands they held their wands, and they joined twined the fingers of their left hands together. At exactly the same moment, they tapped each other on the forehead with their wands and shouted the spell word.

"_Fidelentio_!" There was a flash of yellow light.

X x X

Definitely my longest chapter. So much is internal, I hope it's interesting, or at least understandable. Harry's taking this all awfully calmly, don't you think? What's up with that? Don't ask me, I'm just channelling this stuff. Once again, I put out the call for Reviews, even if it's a simple, "Meh." I'll keep writing till it's done, but it's a bit disheartening. So props to Arwen-Evenstar-Elf, Lucy Maimkill, and unforgivable curse caster, who have reviewed. Check out their stuff too, while you're add it, but be civil, please. I try not to do chapter-by chapter author's notes dissecting the story, but I'm planning to do one at the end. Thanks for making it this far with me!


	8. Ch 8 Let The Games Begin

JKR Owns, not me. I play.

Ch 8 Let The Games Begin

The yellow glare seemed to linger, seeping into the very stone walls and ceiling, coating the cushions and the table and the bookcase in a golden outline. Then it was gone, and both boys blinked at each other.

"Is, is that it?" asked Draco, surprised. He'd expected something more, to feel different somehow. "How do we know it worked right?"

Harry shrugged. "I guess we won't know, until we get out. Until one of us tries to tell someone else, we'll just have to trust it." He smiled at Draco, appreciating the irony of trusting the spell to keep them trustworthy.

Their hands were still linked. Not clutching, not limp; just connected.

They both noticed it at the same time and quickly let go. A strange expression flashed across Draco's face, almost too quickly to be noticed, definitely too quickly to be identified. Before Harry could ask, and he meant to, Draco swiveled his head to look at the small table.

"Hey, there is food over there!" Malfoy jumped up, going over to examine the dishes that had appeared. It seemed to be lunchtime, for there were a couple stacks of bread slices, cold-cuts, condiments and a tureen of soup. There was also a large bottle on the table, but upon investigation, they found it contained butterbeer.

They happily dug in, making sandwiches and enjoying the hearty soup. There wasn't much conversation but the silence wasn't painful. Draco planned to return to 'his' side of the room, but Harry sat down first, right in the middle of the room, using a square cushion as a table. After a hesitant moment, the blond boy sat down across from him, setting up a similar table for himself.

After a while Harry leaned back, sated. He lazily sipped at his butterbeer. It was a bit stronger than what they served students at the Three Broomsticks, but that was just fine. Draco finished a moment later. Harry stood up, took his own plate and bowl then held out his hand to Draco, who looked at him, momentarily confused.

"Can I take your plate?" Asked Harry. "No house-elves here, remember?"

"Oh, sure," mumbled Draco, handing his dishes to Harry. "Thanks." He was blushing again, _again,_ and he couldn't figure out how to stop it. Imagine, blushing because Harry was carrying away the plates. While Harry was at the table tidying up, Draco had a thought.

"H-Harry," He continued, sliding right past his inexplicable stutter, "Is there another towel in the bathroom?" Draco plucked at his third-day-in-a-row shirt. "And maybe clothes?"

Definitely understanding the sentiment, Harry nodded. "I got these," and he gestured at the plain brown trousers and loose shirt, "from the cabinet right next to the tub. Want me to show you?"

"No, I'll find it." He stood up again, wishing briefly that this place had chairs or something besides the floor and loose pillows to sit on. It felt undignified to constantly be scrambling up off the ground; also it was starting to wear on his back muscles. He walked into the bathroom and headed for the tub area.

Harry let him go without further comment. He helped himself to a bit more butterbeer and took one of the books off the shelf to occupy himself.

It was not really interesting enough to hold his attention, though, and his mind kept wandering. Also, he had to use the lavatory. Draco had been in there for about ten minutes now; but there was no sign that he was ready to come out. Deciding that bravery was his favorite virtue, he squeezed his eyes tightly shut and pushed the wooden door open.

"Don't panic, Draco, but I have to use the toilet," he called loudly. He could hear a splashing sound, then the clink of the curtain hangings being adjusted. "I promise I won't look," he added, his smile audible in his voice.

"Come on in," Draco said, "just don't pass the curtain."

Harry cracked his eyes a bit, then opened them all the way. Even though there was no discernible lightsource in the room, there was a glow on the far side of the curtain. It cast a shadow on the fabric. He could tell that Draco was leaning up against the near edge of the tub, his arms crossed on the ledge and his chin resting on his arms. Whether it was a defensive, don't look at me posture, or something else, Harry didn't know. But he did know that the drape wasn't see-through from that side. That and the wood partition between the toilets let him relax enough to pee.

He readjusted his clothes, washed his hands, then turned to leave. Before he did, he asked, "Are you going to be much longer?"

"Not much longer," Draco assured him. All Draco had been doing since he'd gotten in the bath was floating and thinking and pondering and drifting, so he had to do the actual cleanup part first.

He had gotten into the bathtub full of almost-scalding water, then he just bobbed around, trying to get a handle on what his situation currently was. Trapped with Potter, that was still true, and not even the real problem. The problem was Potter himself. Harry. They'd known and despised each other for five years now; Draco had pulled every trick he could think of, given the Potter boy every hassle, every reason to hate him, insulted his friends, watched gleefully when Harry was humiliated, intimidated, and assaulted by Professor Snape, Professor Umbridge, Draco's father...

And here he was, in this room with someone he had thought could only be an enemy. Yet that someone had offered, and committed magically, to keep his secrets; to hear his tales and not spread them; to actually listen. Why would a friend do that, much less an enemy? And several of the things Potte- Harry said were cryptic and confusing. Harry 'wished he wouldn't act like that?' Does that mean if Draco acted differently, they'd be friends? It just seemed such a bizarre question; if he acted the way Harry wanted him to, then what?

For a very vivid moment, the memory of Harry naked flashed in front of his eyes. Draco dove down under the water at the thought, trying to keep himself under as long as possible. He'd thought the image was supressed, like so much else, but it kept coming back, kept sneaking up on him. I mustn't think about it, he told himself very sternly. The supression happened so fast it was hardly conscious effort. He broke the surface of the water gasping for breath. His pulse pounded heavily in his ears as he breathed.

He kept coming back to the same question, though. What to do next? He imagined there would be a Significant Question, followed by expectant silence. But Draco had absolutely no experience sharing his thoughts with others. Oh, he could hold a conversation, he could tell people what he thought was going on around him, that sort of thing. But telling someone about what happened at home, what happened in his head? Ludicrous. It was one reason he hung out with lunkheads like Crabbe and Goyle; they didn't really think, so they didn't exchange ideas. There were other reasons he spent time with them, but they were deeper reasons. The knot in his throat tightened again, and he tried to clear it away. It wasn't physical, so it remained stubbornly in place.

Well, putting it off any longer would only make it more difficult, so Draco finished washing, got out of the tub, and as he dried himself, he looked at the neatly folded clothes in the cupboard. They looked just like Harry's, but they were solid grey. He might have preferred black, or any other color, really, but he shrugged and got dressed. The simple draw-string trousers hung very loosely, and the tunic-like shirt had wide loose sleeves that belonged to a far-gone era. Still, they fit well enough. He decided he was presentable, then walked out into the main room.

Harry looked up from the page he'd been staring blankly at. Draco looked quite unlike his old self, dressed in simple peasant clothes. The grey had to go, however. With the boy's pale, translucent skin, blond hair, and grey eyes, the grey shirt made him look like a wraith, a person only partly there. First chance, Harry thought.

All he said for now was, "Feel better?"

Draco nodded emphatically. "I haven't gone two days without a wash in a long time." He stood there, feeling awkward. Did he want to sit against the wall again? Harry was still in the middle of the floor, but the room wasn't that large, so Draco put his back to the wall directly in front of the tousle-haired boy, arranging a couple cushions for comfort. But now he was sitting down feeling awkward, and he wished Harry would quit looking at him like that. "Is something wrong?" he asked, a bit irritated.

Harry said, "Sort of. I'm not an expert, but that grey isn't your colour at all. It makes you look see-through."

Surprised, Draco looked down at himself. "This was all there was in the cupboard," he said, plucking at the front of the tunic.

"Want this brown one?" Offered Harry.

"Um, sure," said Draco, still taken aback. Harry promptly stripped off his shirt and offered it.

Draco dropped his eyes, then took off the gray shirt to complete the exchange. Once both boys were fully dressed again, he looked up. The gray shirt was better on Harry, making his green eyes dominate his face.

"Much better," Harry observed. "Now you look like you're still here." Then he smiled.

Draco smiled back. So far, this wasn't so bad. But surely Harry would start asking questions soon. Draco didn't think he'd be able to handle a face-to-face baring of the soul, no matter how much he wanted it. Not really stalling, but looking for something to distract Harry, who was still looking at him intensely, he noticed two decks of cards on the floor nearby. They were definitely not there a minute ago.

Harry noticed them too. "Can I have one of those decks? If you take one too, we can play double solitaire."

"I don't know that game," admitted Draco, but he picked up both decks and handed one to Harry.

"I didn't think it was a Muggle-only game, but it's not hard to learn. You've never played solitaire?"

They passed a pleasant half-hour going over the basics of regular solitaire, getting Draco familiar with the rules so Double wouldn't be too confusing. They played a couple of slow games, with Harry winning easily the first time, then fighting a bit to win the second time. Draco was definitely a quick study, and he found he was enjoying the game.

"I wish I'd known this game a long time ago," said Draco, shifting a jack of spades onto the queen of hearts. "It would have helped a lot at home when I was a kid."

"That's how I learned it, the regular version, I mean. They didn't even know they owned that old deck, so I took it. I spent a lot of time alone, when I wasn't doing work for the Dursleys. I might have gone mad without it. Were you alone a lot?" Harry finished a stack of diamonds with a king then turned the pile over.

"Yes, well, I am an only child." Answered Draco, still mostly concentrating on his cards.

"Not even any other kids in the neighborhood?"

"What neighborhood? Our manor house is in the middle of the moors. There's no one around for _miles."_

"What about your parents friends? Don't any of them have children you could have played with? What about Crabbe and Goyle?" Harry kept his voice carefully neutral.

"According to my parents, hardly anyone is worthy to associate with Malfoys, and Crabbe and Goyle, well...just imagine them as small children."

Harry allowed himself to laugh at that. "Thick as two planks, both of them, and that's with a bit of education."

Malfoy chuckled, turning another set of three cards from his hand. He played his last ace in the common pool at the top, then set to work moving what cards he could. "So I was alone almost all the time."

"So what did you do?" Harry asked.

"I flew on my broomstick sometimes, read a bit, but mostly I stayed with my parents. Had to follow them around, wherever they went."

"Bet that was fun," said Harry sarcastically. "Being quiet the whole time, I expect."

"Oh, yes. And listening to my father talk and talk."

"About what?" Harry was stuck, turning his three cards over and over again, watching for his opportunity to move his three of hearts. Draco played the two of hearts, but he was quicker with his own three. Draco grinned triumphantly.

"What did he talk about? The decline of the wizarding world, how many ways the Malfoy family was better than everyone else, the greatness of the purebloods. Mudbloods, Muggles, the Minister of Magic, Dumbledore."

"I bet you were a right troublemaker, right from the start," said Harry, finally playing his own ace of hearts.

"I've been told I tried to play with a Muggle child when Mother and I were in the village once. That was trouble. I don't remember it, but I do remember not trying it again."

"If you don't remember it, how do you even know it happened?" Harry asked.

"My father told me about it over and over again, and how it would disgrace the entire Malfoy bloodline if I ever tried it again."

Harry was shocked. He tried not to show it too much, though. He didn't want to break the mood, now that Draco was actually talking. "Was there a lot of that sort of thing?" He finished a pile of spades.

"Hmm?" Draco was distracted by his cards. "Oh, well, just about everything you could think of could disgrace the family. Being loud, failing at school, talking out of turn, touching a vase. When I was seven I fell off my broom and broke my wrist. The whole time I was at St. Mungo's, I was breaking my mother's heart and shaming every ancestor in the book, because they had never acted so foolishly."

"Wow," was all Harry could say to that. After a moment, he added, "That's sort of the opposite of what I went through, or rather, go through. I'm worthless to my relatives because they think of my parents as worthless."

The cards were flying by now, both of them trying to be the first to place all of their cards in the common pool of ace through king. Elated, Draco dropped his last king into place. "I won!"

"Well done," Harry congratulated him. "Now that you've got the hang of it, maybe we should make a bet on the next game."

Draco grinned, albeit a bit nervously. "I'm game if you are, but what kind of stakes do we use?"

Harry just smiled wickedly. "Why don't we let the winner decide what the stake is? That can be our first bet!"

"You're a strange person, Potter, do you know that?" Said Draco, but there wasn't any rancor in his words or his voice. "All right, I accept your challenge!"

X x X

It's been a bit since I updated, but I have an excuse. I'm three states away from home, in the sticks of Mississippi, but I've got my shiny new laptop and this hotel has wireless, so I got to post after all. Thanks so much for the reviews, they're a real boost. Free internets and cookies for all. I should be getting another chapter out after the holiday weekend, since I've got lots of drive time ahead of me, but I help drive, so it might be several days again. The request for reviews still stands, and I fear no flames, so let 'em fly. Did I mention that my laptop is shiny:P


	9. Ch 9 Closed Doors

JKR is the man (so to speak.) She owns, not me.

Ch 9 Closed Doors

It took a moment to separate the redback cards from the bluebacks. A different kind of silence lay between Harry and Draco; not awkward, not expectant, just quiet until they both had a deck in their hands. It made Harry curious about how many kinds of silence there were in the world. Probably half of them were invented in this very Room.

They shuffled for a minute or two, the tension growing. The previous games had been relaxed with nothing riding on them, but this one was different. Draco watched Harry's hands manipulating the deck, splitting it, riffling the two halves together, then making the bridge to slide them into place again. He did it with such practiced ease, it was clear his claim of years of experience were quite true. Draco's method didn't have quite the same flair, but it got the job done. He determined to learn how to shuffle that way. Of course, there were wizarding card games, but the shape of the decks could be anything.

"Are you ready?" asked Harry. Draco looked up into those vivid green eyes, framed neatly by the round-rimmed spectacles. Harry's face looked so intense, so focused. Just the way he looked during a Quidditch match.

Draco nodded and started dealing his side of the game. He was trying to find that self-confidence, even his arrogance, that had always been with him. Until he came to this room, he'd been quite sure that he was the best at everything, the best of everything. Sure, his attitude irritated people like Harry, but it was something that kept him moving forward. Draco had become dependent on it; and here it was gone.

But he was sure he could still play cards.

He finished dealing then rested his hand on his face down cards. "You set?" He was gratified to hear that he could still _sound_ confident.

Harry nodded with a smile. "Go!"

This time there was no time for conversation. The sound of flipping cards, the swift movement of the hand from one pile to another, the gratification of turning up an ace.

"Ah!" cried Harry. "I was going to put my four there!"

"Too slow again, Harry!" Malfoy gloated. He threw down four more cards in quick succession.

"I think not," Harry said, tossing a quick glance at Draco's cards. Years of experience with the game told him that unless there was another red five in Draco's hand, he was doomed. Harry swept his eyes back to his own cards, determined not to make a similar mistake.

A couple of minutes later and it was over. Neither of them were able to play all of their cards into the top row, but that didn't matter. Harry's tableau was down to three stacks, his last few cards still in his hand. The three-turn rule made the game more challenging, but it also lead to more unfinished games.

Through some clever manouvering of his cards Draco had made real progress, but he had far more cards left over by the time he was stymied. Frustrated, he flipped through his deck a couple more times. Then, with a gusty sigh, he set them down in front of him. "Do we count the cards?" He asked.

"Well, we have to seperate them at least," replied Harry, gathering the center stacks together. As he sorted them out, he counted them in his head; thirty-five of his blue deck, twenty-one of the reds. The piles sat there, making the winner of the game clear.

"Good game," said Harry cheerfully.

"Yeah," Draco agreed. He was suddenly nervous. There was still the bet to settle, and with Harry, he had no idea what to expect.. The rules of the Room precluded injury, and Harry wasn't the type for that, but there were things scarier than pain. "So what about the bet?" Better to get it over with, he reasoned.

"Oh yeah," Harry said, as if he'd forgotten. "I suppose as winner, I get to ask three questions, and you must tell the truth." He was grinning.

Draco was afraid it would be something like that. He looked down and picked up his red cards, trying to shuffle them; anything to look away from those green eyes. "Fine. Ask away."

"All right, question number one. Uhm, are you dating Pansy Parkinson?"

Draco snorted, glad for an easy one. "Definitely not. She might think so, but I just let her hang around a lot. Annoying, really."

"Okay then, number two." said Harry, who had just thought of a _brilliant_ question. "What do you hear or see when you are around a Dementor?"

The question slapped Draco in the face. He stiffened, lightningstruck; all the blood drained from his face. From far away, like in a dream, he heard his father's voice. _"This is what happened to the last one of _those_ we had in this family, Draco. I know you would never disappoint me like that..."_ The air left Draco's lungs, like he hadn't breathed in days.

"What is it?" Harry was alarmed. Belatedly, he realized his question had actually been, _what is your worst, most miserable memory?_ He'd been faced with his own terrible past so many times, it didn't have that shock of impact anymore.

"I-I can't," Draco stammered. He was angry now; the adrenaline dumped into his system by the surprise was coursing through him. "You have _no_ right to ask that of me, Harry! I'll play your silly games while we're trapped in here, but I don't have to... to..." he could no longer speak.

"I didn't mean-" Started Harry, holding out a placatory hand.

"Oh, of _course _not," Draco said scathingly. "Just an innocent question!"

"Now wait a minute," Harry said, starting to get angry himself. "What are you trying to say?"

"Playing the innocent now, are you?" accused Draco. "Trying to figure out how to get to me, ways to manipulate me. What would you use that for, I wonder? Sell it to the Daily Prophet? Or that rag the Quibbler, more like!"

Harry leapt to his feet, enraged. He was surprisingly stiff and achy, but he didn't show it. "First of all, that's the kind of thing _you've_ done before, not me! Second, weren't you paying attention? We both, _both_ are spellbound to keep secrets from this Room, remember?" He stalked over to the table, just so he wouldn't have to look at Malfoy's steel-grey eyes looking at him like that. Like he was some kind of monster who would betray someone... His furious gaze lit on the bottle of firewhiskey which had reappeared full earlier in the day. He splashed some in a carved wooden cup and tossed it back. He rested his hands on the edge of the table, keeping his back to the blond boy.

Draco sat rigid, leaning his head backwards against the wall, staring determinedly up at the ceiling. He was still angry, but Harry's words had an effect. In the years they'd been rivals, enemies, it had been him, Draco, who had pulled every underhanded, hurtful trick he could think of. He refused to think about that too much just now, though.

Harry's question had thrown Draco almost bodily back to the day Lucius Malfoy had shown him the portrait, and told him the story of his great-uncle. The whole event had been a pointed lesson, deliberately aimed at then fourteen-year-old Draco. His mind shied away from it. To have Harry, of all people, bring it up just triggered too many conflicting emotions to handle all at once.

Meanwhile, Harry was feeling a bit ashamed of himself. It had felt so comfortable for a while, especially during the card games, that he'd sort of forgotten that he was dealing with Draco Malfoy. Why should a _Malfoy_ share things like that with him? The thought made him angry again, although it was a bit different this time. He'd already confirmed a couple of his unarticulated suspicions about Draco, just in the time they'd been here. It was the Malfoy's fault; the whole ancient line of them. He briefly imagined a pureblood line of Dursleys, passing their idiocy and cruelty down through the generations. There was more to the story, though; that was clear.

The silence grew deafening. Neither boy knew the other well enough to be able to even guess what they were thinking about. Harry couldn't stand it. He filled his cup with firewhiskey.

Without turning around, he announced to the room at large, "I'm going to take a bath." With so few options, it was the only thing he could think of to give them both the privacy they needed to cool off. He walked with deliberate calmness into the bathroom, carefully not to even appear to slam the door.

As soon as he was sure he was alone, Draco slid sideways down the wall and buried his face in a pillow. _What the hell do I do now?_ He berated himself. Harry was probably telling the truth; he wouldn't have done anything with the information. He also probably didn't mean anything by the question. Draco had been so thrown by it, he'd just lashed out.

He refused to break down, to sob into the pillow like a child, but he couldn't stop the tears themselves. They were absorbed immediately by the soft fabric, so he could pretend he wasn't crying. He hated being weak, having these reactions that he couldn't control. They were for lesser beings, or so he'd been told so many times. The only emotions his father ever displayed were anger and contempt. Icy, aloof. Imitating these traits had become more than just emulation, they were necessary to survival. Even his mother Narcissa, who did actually have feelings for her son, expected ultimate self-control, always.

The door in Draco's mind was struggling to open, and was trying just as hard to stay firmly closed. It was too much.

After a few minutes, he regained control of his breathing. Moments later, he was able to sit up. He longed to drink some of the firewhiskey, for the freedom from thinking it granted, but the memory of his sickness last time gave him pause. If only there was something to eat...

Graciously, the Room provided a loaf of hearty dark brown bread and a small crock of butter. Simple fare, but enough to quiet his churning stomach. It filled him surprisingly quickly; a couple of the thick slices and the constriction in his guts and his head loosened. Or maybe it was the mundane task of buttering bread, chewing and swallowing that calmed him. It was done without thought, and without other more upsetting thoughts intruding. He felt hollowed out.

Draco filled his cup only half full of the firewhiskey, still mindful of the dangerous nature of the stuff. While he sipped it, he leaned on the wall, looking at nothing, and glad of it.

Once the bathroom was truly closed, Harry leaned against it, feeling shaky. Surely it was too soon for the firewhiskey to have an effect; it must be something else. Harry was in turmoil. He was convinced that he'd truly screwed something up; done irreparable damage to the unlikely friendship that had developed. Really, how could he have known what effect his question would have? It seemed out of proportion. He vaguely remembered the conversation they'd had on the Hogwarts Express in his third year; long, long ago to him. One of the Weasley twins had said that Draco had run into their compartment, white as a sheet, after the Dementor's started their search of the train. They'd been, what, thirteen years old then? Was that the same memory, or had something more terrible happened to Draco since then?

He decided he didn't want to think about it anymore, so he went to the bathing alcove and started the bathwater. He let it fill, blankly watching the water pour from the spigot and the steam rise. Once it was full enough to float in, he pulled the curtain across and undressed. He floated in the water, trying to maintain his blank mind. It wouldn't let him, of course.

_What am I doing here?_ He asked himself. Sure, even trapped in a room at Hogwarts was better than going home to the Dursleys, but what was he actually _doing_ in this place? Trying specifically to turn his enemy into a friend? As if he could. Draco had been a sort of obsession to Harry, almost from their first meeting. Over the past couple of years, however, Draco's behavior had made Harry angry for a new reason. Of course he got mad when the Slytherin boy taunted him and humiliated him and his friends, but lately it was really getting to Harry. Now that he had a little more experience around the boy himself, Harry understood himself a little better.

Harry wanted very much to be able to like Draco Malfoy. There were times in his fourth year, and this past year as well, when he imagined them being friends. He'd always sort of laughed at himself about it; it seemed so impossible. There was no way Ron would ever forgive Draco for all the snide comments, the jinxes, the insults to Hermione. And most of the time, Harry thought he felt the same way. But the thoughts came to him anyway, unbidden. He and Draco talking, joking, laughing. In his fantasies, though, the boy who looked like Draco didn't act like the Draco he knew in school.

_In my head, he acts like he acts here in the Room,_ Harry realized. Even the explosion just now was understandable. Harry had unknowingly pushed too hard, trying to make the real person in front of him more like the idealized version in his mind.

_But now I've screwed it all up_. He was sure of it. Draco had become Malfoy again, because of a thoughtless question. Harry remembered the cold anger he'd seen on the pale face. He flushed with shame. _Damn it._

X x X

I'm afraid I won't be updating as frequently as I started out, because I just started school online, but I promise I won't stop writing this until I've brought it to some kind of finish. It's gratifying to see how many people have read the whole story, especially since this isn't H/D pr0n. So a big thanks to my regular readers, and reviewers not only win at life, but they win at the internets. Or should that be the other way 'round?


	10. Ch 10 Dangerous Silence

JKR owns. I am not JKR.

Ch 10 Dangerous Silence

Draco sat, his cup now empty. It was definitely no fun to drink alone and upset. True, he hadn't had nearly as much as the previous time, but the lazy way his body and mind wouldn't respond to his will was pronounced and annoying. And there was nothing to do in this place. More out of boredom than anything, he crawled the short distance to the dilapidated bookshelf to examine the titles there. Without really thinking about it, he took them all off the shelf and tried to stack them in a single pile. When the stack fell the second time, he gave it up and started putting them back on the shelf.

Giving his body something to do was clearing his head a bit. The shock Harry had given him with his simple question had worn off, but his own reaction to it was still fresh in his mind. He'd flung stupid accusations at Harry, spoken cruelly. To his surprise, it bothered him a lot that he'd made Harry mad. Draco told himself that until there was a way out of this Room, he would do better to keep the peace. Surely that's why he felt so guilty.

There was another reason, and his hands sorted through the books as his mind sorted through his own motives. They had done a secret-keeping spell, hadn't they? Wasn't his intention at that point to share at least some of his thoughts? He'd been almost eager to, then. Was it just that a moment had passed? Was it too late?

Would Harry even talk to him again?

The thought made the breath catch in his throat. _Don't be stupid,_ he berated himself. _Harry's not like that. Besides, he doesn't want to be alone in this place either._ Draco felt certain that if they stopped talking all together, it would be just like being alone. Alone hurt. Alone felt like going mad, and madness wasn't allowed either.

Draco could sense himself sliding back out of control and tried to hold on, but his thoughts were causing the panic to rise again. He remembered the staring eyes, looking accusingly out of the terrifyingly still portrait. In his mind, it became his own face, empty and hollow, an example for others.

He was hyperventilating. His throat felt closed, a band of hot metal wrapped around it. Body thrumming, filled with tension, he fought against himself. Something was screaming to be let out. Draco was afraid of it; without letting himself understand what he was fighting with, he ruthlessly tamped it down. It was harder this time. No matter how much practice he got keeping these things down, under control, it was harder every time.

Abandoning his pile of books, he paced. Kicking the cushions out of his way felt pretty good but it wasn't enough. Stomping made his ankles and the soles of his bare feet sting, but it didn't help. His frustration built up, and up, and up. His mind was yelling words, words that wanted to be spoken aloud, but his mouth was closed, his teeth clenched. He dropped to his knees on the floor, now almost clear of cushions. He pounded both fists on the solid stone, pounded and pounded until the pain finally made its presence known.

The Room was completely silent. Draco could not make a sound.

He stayed as he was for a few minutes, for an hour, he couldn't tell. He was still on his knees on the bare floor, hunched over to rest his forehead on the ground between his still clenched fists.

The moment had passed again. He could sit up and look around. He could breathe again. His throat ached, dry as bone. Nothing could really register in his mind except for his surroundings, but he saw the pitcher of water, provided in the nick of time once again by this terrible Room. Getting unsteadily to his feet, Draco walked to the table to pour himself a drink. It took him two full cups of water to feel halfway normal again.

He shook his head at himself. _I've got to stop doing that,_ he told himself. Histrionics and mania didn't suit a Malfoy, and what would happen if someone saw? Fully in control of himself again, he set his cup back on the table. His eyes lit on a strange glistening drop on the polished surface. _Looks like blood._

Draco stared at it, a bit confused. Where would blood have come from in this place? The first drop was joined by a second. That's when he realized he'd injured himself pounding on the stones. He inspected the palms of his hands. There were small abrasions on the sides of both palms, bleeding very slightly. The drops, however, had come from his right hand's palms, where one of his fingernails had broken the skin. The rest had left angry red welts, but only the one was bleeding. Quickly looking at his left hand, he saw the same thing. Scarlet crescents like horrible little smiles. None leaking blood just yet, but…

_That must have been a bad one._ All he wanted to do was wash his hands.

Harry was sitting in the empty tub. He'd let all the water out five minutes ago, but didn't really want to move. He'd even got his towel wrapped around his shoulders, but sat down again, hugging his knees to his chest. He didn't think he could go back out there, just yet. Draco was probably fuming, probably glad for the solitude. Harry rested his chin on his knee, staring at the rubber stopper on it's metal chain.

Draco silently pushed open the door to the bathroom. He considered announcing himself, but for some reason he didn't. He looked at the curtain covering the bathing alcove. The sourceless light cast the shadow of the taps on the curtain, but nothing else. It looked like no one was back there. Draco told himself that if Harry was in the water, he wouldn't be visible, but his ears told him that there was no water in the tub either. No sound of ripples, no drip-drip from the spigot to the tub; pure silence.

Not really intending to spy, still Draco was drawn to the edge of the curtain, moving as quietly as he could. There was a slight gap between the wall and the drapery's edge. He carefully looked around it. He saw Harry, sitting in a drying tub, towel draped over his shoulder, head turned the other direction. Draco stared for a few moments, captured by the image. He couldn't identify what was going on, but it looked so sad and so peaceful at the same time. Wary of being caught, he tore his gaze away and walked silently back to the door. He was about to walk out when he realized he was still bleeding.

Draco made rather a production of opening the door noisily, then walking to the sink to wash his hands, splashing noisily. He hissed as the hot water hit his cuts, but the pain wasn't bad. The red ribbons running down the drain made him uneasy. He felt they were being pulled out of him, strings loose to unravel. The reason for the wound was unclear; his introspection was fading again.

Harry heard Draco open the door and walk to the sink. Harry stood up, wrapping the towel around his waist. He clambered out of the tub, but he didn't get dressed right away. Unknowingly, he echoed Draco's movement to the curtain and peeked through. There he was, staring down at his hands under the flow. He stood, back straight, with his head down. His hair was clean but unkempt, hanging loosely over his forehead. His manner didn't seem hostile or angry anymore, but how could Harry tell?

Dressing quickly, Harry thought about what the hell he was going to say. Draco had been so angry, and rightly so. But if it was so terrible, maybe it needed to be shared. Harry's desire to help people had been aroused, but this was still so new to him. How could he help if it wasn't wanted?

Harry sighed and ran his fingers through his damp, messy hair. He straightened his glasses and stepped out from behind the drape.

Draco jumped at the sound, startled. He tried to hide what he was doing, with no real success. Blood still welled up from the cut in his palm. It had slowed, but without a dressing of some kind, the clotting wouldn't happen fast enough.

As soon as Harry saw the scarlet-stained water, he realized something was wrong. He was still cautious, though, and merely stepped up to the sink. He looked at Draco's hand dispassionately. "You'll need a bandage for that," he observed.

"Yeah, I know."

"I'll check the table, this Room likes to put things there, it seems. Okay?" Concern crept into Harry's voice.

"I'll just wait here." Was there a touch of irony in Draco's tone?

Harry walked through the door into the main room. He stopped dead. Something strange had happened here; The pillows that had been strewn all over the floor were now in piles against the walls, probably kicked there. The books were strewn about in front of the bookshelf, and there were spots of blood on the floor.

_I didn't hear a thing,_ Harry marveled. The wall must be incredibly soundproof, to not let fury like that penetrate it. But no, he'd heard Malfoy being sick that first morning. The curtain, maybe? An Imperturbable Charm, perhaps? But sound passed through it just fine.

After a few moments, Harry remembered what he'd come to find and started searching for a bandage, or a strip of cloth, anything to staunch the bleeding. The table still only held the bottle of firewhiskey and a chunk of dark bread wrapped in a frayed cloth napkin next to a stoneware crock of butter. No ointment, no spellbook, no roll of gauze or Muggle disinfectant. Frustrated, Harry took the napkin off the loaf and tried to wipe the blood off the stone floor and the tabletop.

He felt helpless. The havoc in the room had thrown him, because he hadn't even known it was happening. He felt that he was getting to know the real Draco Malfoy, but the more he knew, the less he felt he understood. Who knew the Slytherin boy was so complicated? Almost angrily he dipped the cloth into the mostly empty cup of firewhiskey to get at the last red spot on the stone. It took him a second to realize what he was doing.

_Use this cloth, genius, _he berated himself. He hurried into the bathroom, aware that he'd been gone for several minutes, maybe longer.

Draco stood exactly where he had been, still staring at his own hand like he'd never seen it before. Harry walked over to him a bit nervously, but he tried not to show it.

"I found this," he said, showing it to the blond boy.

"Thanks," said Draco, his voice devoid of emotion. He wet the cloth and wrapped it around the palm of his hand.

"So what happened?" Blurted Harry. He couldn't stand it any longer, and he wasn't going to let the subject go.

Draco looked at him impassively, his grey eyes showing nothing. "I think I clenched my fists too hard. It doesn't really hurt." It was impossible to tell if this was true or not. There was something behind his gaze, but Harry couldn't tell what it was.

"Look, Draco. Something is wrong, and I would like to help, if I could." The desire to put a hand on Draco's shoulder was strong, but Harry resisted. It probably wouldn't be appreciated.

"I believe that you want to help, but I can't talk about it." Draco raised a hand to stop Harry from interrupting him. "I'm not dodging the question, I'm telling you that I _can't_ talk about it. I don't know how." he finished with a little shrug.

"I don't understand," said Harry, baffled.

Draco made an impatient noise. "Are you telling me that you were instantly able to tell your friends about your home life? About the way they treated you?"

Harry realized that Draco had a point. Still, he tried to argue. "But it's easy to talk-"

"Easy to talk to them now?" Draco finished for him. You've had years with people who wanted to hear you, wanted to help you." He smiled bitterly. "I've never had anything but enemies," and he nodded ironically to indicate Harry was in that category, "and spies around me."

Harry took a moment to process this. "You mean you've never had _anyone_ to talk to?"

"You catch on quick!"

"Wow." He felt lame saying that, but he was floored. Sure, from age one to eleven, he'd had no friends, no one to share his experiences with. Once he found the right friends, it had been an adjustment, but they had saved his life numerous times. They'd certainly saved his sanity. To be isolated even at school must be hell.

"Well, what do you mean, spies?" He was trying to keep Draco talking, even if he was a little afraid to hear the answers now.

Draco laughed mirthlessly. "Goyle, Crabbe, Parkinson. All of them report on me; Crabbe and Goyle because they were told to, and Parkinson because she enjoys it." His voice had tightened, but he fought through it. He kept his gaze almost defiantly on Harry.

"What are they watching for?" asked Harry.

Draco was sweating now, the color rising in his usually pale face. He opened his mouth and tried to speak. His voice wasn't cooperating. He tried again, and his breath became ragged. Face twisted as if in pain, he mouthed silent words as his whole body started to tremble.

Harry was seriously alarmed now. This wasn't just reluctance, this looked like interference. A spell, perhaps? "Look, we don't have to talk about it anymore, you don't want to get hurt again!"

It was too late, though. The seizure or whatever it was had a full hold on Draco again. His eyes were open and unseeing, his teeth clenched and unclenched themselves, as if he was trying to speak. Without warning, his hands doubled into fists and started striking his own body, hard.

Harry cried out, tried to grab Draco's arms, but missed. They were swinging wildly, white knuckles flashing through the air then thudding into Draco's own body. Terrified of this drastic, dangerous change, Harry could only think of stopping those flailing fists. He all but tackled the blond boy, trying to catch him in a bear hug. One of Draco's fists caught Harry in the shoulder. It felt more like a hammer hitting than a human, and white pain bloomed in the muscle.

Still the blows rained down. Harry was able to get behind his stricken companion, where it would be safer to try restraining him. He didn't want to hurt him, but Draco was far more dangerous to himself at the moment. He finally caught both arms and fought to keep them still. Deprived of that motion, Draco's body arched backwards, and Harry was forced to fall backwards as carefully as he could, taking them both to the ground. Once there, though, it was easier to keep Draco's arms under control, to keep him from hitting his own body. Harry locked his arms together as best he could, trapping Draco's arms behind his back.

The breath whistled through Draco's constricted throat, but that was the only sound coming from him. All of his muscles drawn taut, his arms still struggling madly, Draco was utterly silent.

Harry held on; there was nothing else he could do. Draco's loose brown shirt was pulled half way up his body. Harry could already see bruises forming on the ribs from the punishing blows. His own shoulder burned from the glancing strike he'd received. He lay there, supporting Draco's body over his own. His arms were getting tired. He was completely adrift and useless, unable to help his friend.

X x X

There's definitely something very powerful at work here, but what could it be? Well, you were warned of a longer break between chapters. I think this one is the longest so far, though, so it's not too bad. I appreciate the reviews I've gotten. It's gratifying to know that the style I use is effective, at least to keeping attention. Insert the standard plea for reviews here, I hate to be cliche about it. Thanks for reading!


	11. Ch 11 Veritas By Proxy

JKR owns, I am broke.

Ch 11 Veritas By Proxy

The convulsions ended before Harry's strength gave out, thankfully. Draco's body finally went completely limp. Harry was exhausted, but he felt had to get up, had to get Draco out of the bathroom. The stone floor was chilly, leeching the heat out of the bodies of both boys. Harry carefully worked his way out from underneath Draco, trying to put the blond on the ground as gently as possible. Only then could he stand up and stretch abused muscles and cramping joints. He looked down at Draco's face; the lines carved deeply from the agonized grimace only just passed.

_He looks…_ but he couldn't find a word for the look, even in his own mind. Something was working it's way through Harry's mind, but he couldn't think about it, not yet, still not time to think of it yet, but it couldn't wait much longer.

First he had to get his friend into the other room.

Harry's body protested the movement at first, but he was determined. He got on one knee next to Draco's prone body, hooked an arm behind the blond head and got him into a sitting position. Although he had seen it in television programs and read about it in books, it was an altogether different matter to try lifting and carrying someone who was about the same size as he was. It was awkward, and he nearly fell right on top of Draco.

Frustrated, Harry sat back on his heels and looked around again. The door between rooms was closed; that would have been nearly impossible to open with full arms. He stood and went to the door, pulling it open. Immediately his eyes lit on the discarded blankets, forgotten in the indeterminate time since they'd both woken up. He snatched them up and went back to his prone companion. After laying them out, he was able to lift Draco long enough to set him back down on the blankets. He hated to drag him, but there was little choice if he wanted to get him out of here and off the floor.

A few minutes later the unconscious boy was resting on two of the largest cushions Harry could find and covered with one of the blankets. The pale skin looked dead white against the brightly colored pillows; his pulse beat visibly in his throat, but it was the steady and slow pulse of sleep.

Harry sat down to rest, finally. He leaned back against the wall in the spot Draco had claimed for himself since they'd come to this place. How long ago was that? Harry was tired in a way he hadn't been since the morning he'd returned from the fight in the Ministry. Even in this sheltered place, cut off from everything, it had seemed like one crisis after another. And this thought, this idea or image or whatever in his mind kept cropping up, demanding his attention. Without taking his eyes off the sleeping form just a couple feet in front of him, Harry finally allowed the thought he'd been dodging to speak itself in his mind.

_I think I'm falling for Draco Malfoy._

There it was. The thought he hadn't allowed himself to think seriously about since he'd first discovered that there were boys who interested him more than a little. Hell, he hadn't even allowed himself to admit that he liked some boys until a few months ago. He'd told no one, not even Sirius. He wasn't sure if he would have even if he'd had the chance. The loss of that chance rolled over Harry; his godfather surely would have understood, but he'd never know for sure now.

And his friends; Ron and Hermione. Hermione wouldn't treat him any differently, but Ron… who knew how he would react? And the other Gryffindors. He could deal with everyone else treating him like a freak, an outcast. He was used to it. But that terrible time in fourth year when Ron refused to believe him, wouldn't even speak to him, that had hurt a lot.

But Harry also knew that he couldn't hide forever. Surely that was what was killing Draco; hiding himself so completely that even talking about it sent him into whatever it was that had just happened.

Ah, yes, Draco. Harry focused on him again, his eyes tracing the line of Draco's profile. He sighed. Yes, Draco was definitely attractive. The proud tilt of his head, the way his grey eyes flashed, the quick wit. Until this bizarre little adventure, the only times Harry had seen these traits was when Draco was being cruel, usually to Harry and his friends. But now, there was a difference. The pride was still there, but without the usual ring of Slytherin cronies around, the cruelty was gone.

Of course, attraction was one thing, what to do about it is another. How could he find out how Draco felt when every time they tried to talk, Draco went mental? And what was causing it, anyway? It looked like a spell, but that made it even harder to deal with unless you knew what spell it was. And what if it wasn't a spell? If it wasn't, then what could it be?

Draco had been able to talk a little, over the card game, but things had changed as soon as Harry had foolishly asked the Dementor question. _That memory,_ Harry thought. _That memory could be affecting him somehow._ He remembered his own first encounters with Dementors. They gave him the first memory of his mother's voice; as she pled for mercy, begged for Harry's life to be spared. The horrible draw of that memory, the tearing need to hear their voices no matter what, tore him apart. Until he told Professor Lupin, he'd been consumed by the two desires. Once he'd spoken the words, the idea had lost a little of it's edge. What would it be like, to be completely unable to speak of it? He'd have gone mad.

But what was it that was actually stopping Draco from speaking?

Whatever it was, Harry decided, it had to end. And every time he tried to ask about it, it got worse. Maybe questions weren't the way.

"You're staring at me."

Harry yelped in surprise at Draco's voice. His eyes focused themselves on Draco who was sitting up. Then he blushed; he had been staring, but he hadn't been seeing. "I know. Sorry."

Draco blinked, then looked away. He kept his mind as blank as he could, but it was difficult. He was a little tired of waking up this way, after a mysterious blackout.

"I'm trying to think of a way to help you." Harry smiled. "Without killing you, if possible."

"Can we talk about something else? I don't want to talk about that anymore."

Harry nodded. "I can talk for a while, if you don't mind listening?" A plan, or half a plan, was forming in his mind.

Draco nodded, but he still didn't look up. He sat up a little straighter, drawing one knee up to his chest and draping his arm over it. His eyes were pointed at the stone wall just over Harry's left shoulder.

"I have this friend, named Daniel," Harry began, pulling a name from the air. "Don't worry, you wouldn't now him. Daniel has been acting strange lately, but it's not too surprising. Daniel's had a rough time of it lately. But he came to me the other day because he had something he wanted to tell me. I was a little surprised, but I said I would listen. Daniel told me that he liked boys sometimes, just as much as he liked girls." He was watching Draco carefully, and saw the heightened alertness, but that was all.

"He was very glad that I didn't get angry, or go mental. He also said that he had a crush on a boy he knew, but didn't know how to tell if it was mutual."

Draco was shaken. The 'friend' story was obviously a cover. But was it Draco who was supposed to be 'Daniel' or was it Harry? If it was supposed to be Draco, then how did Harry know? Just from the little bits of conversation they'd managed?

_It's neither,_ Draco told himself ruthlessly. _It's a different person all together, this is Daniel's story, I can think about it if it's Daniel and not me. Daniel Daniel Daniel._ He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, just to make sure he could. "Who does Daniel have a crush on? Maybe I know him."

Harry smiled. Draco had caught on. "You might, his name is…" Harry cast about for a name, "Andrew." He'd almost said James, but decided against it.

Draco finally looked at Harry, a bit quizzically. "Andrew?"

"Hey, this is my story," said Harry, grinning in spite of himself. "Anyway, do you know the guy?"

"I think I do. We've run into each other a couple of times," Draco said. He was beginning to get into the game a little. It offered all kinds of possibilities, and as long as he believed the lie, maybe… "Andrew is kind of distant, though, a bit of a bully."

"Oh, but Daniel thinks there's some hope. He's seen Andrew be a different person once in a while. Almost human." Harry used a joking tone.

"Anything's possible," Said Draco, voice full of irony.

"So what about Andrew?" Harry pressed. He wasn't going to let it go, especially since it seemed to be working.

"Andrew… he…" Draco swallowed hard. "He talks about Daniel sometimes." His face colored; he wasn't fooling his body, not completely. "There's a lot in the way, though."

"Well, Daniel doesn't give up very easily." The determination in Harry's voice was clear, and it reflected in the glint in his eye. Now for the tough part. "If I were Daniel, I would be able to help Andrew out, one way or another."

"If I were Andrew, I'd want to be helped," said Draco. "But it's so hard…" His breath caught and he continued, exerting everything he had to control himself. "Hard for Andrew to talk, and he says he doesn't know why." He was calm again.

"Did something happen to him?" It was tough for Harry, to figure out how hard to push. Sending Draco over the edge again would only do harm, but it had to be better to get whatever it was out in the open. If it was possible.

Draco shifted, changing to a cross-legged position on the cushion. It almost looked like a meditation pose, and maybe that helped, because he was able to keep talking. _"He_ told me about a time, when he was fourteen…there was a portrait…" He was having trouble again, but it was different this time. This wasn't the speaking inhibition, but just the memory itself. He couldn't pretend that the memory wasn't his own.

The words _had_ to be spoken, though. If he died for it, it had to be better than living like this. Putting the story in terms of someone else might be the only way. He dropped his head and told the story to the floor.

"He went home from school, and his father was waiting for him. It seemed his _friends_ had been telling tales on him. _Andrew_ said a few things without thinking, and they got back to his father. Talking about Daniel a little too much, I think. Andrew didn't even think he was saying anything wrong, just… Anyway." He took another deep breath. "In the great hall of Andrew's house, there were all of the family portraits, but there was one empty spot. I, _he_ never thought about that empty place until his father showed him what should have gone there."

Draco looked up at Harry, who was listening intently. "They had a portrait made, that wasn't why it was missing from the great hall. He was caught having an affair with a boy at school, and to punish him, they gave him to the Dementors."

Harry sucked in a gasp. "They _what?"_

"The Dementors fed on him, for months, then they Kissed him." Draco dropped his head again and laughed bitterly. "They kept him in a hut on the back of the property with a Dementor, so he couldn't get away, and so no one would know about anything. My, Andrew's father said to him, 'that's what happened to the last one of those we had in this family,' and he showed him the portrait."

Harry was afraid to ask about the portrait.

Draco answered the question without it being asked. "They had the portrait done after the Kiss," Tears spilled over onto Draco's cheeks; he didn't even notice them. "Portraits are supposed to move, to be a reflection of the person. He was so still. He was alive, just…empty. Forever." Draco raised his eyes to meet Harry's horrified gaze. There was the face Harry had seen almost every day for five years now. No sign of emotion in the features, but the eyes showed something new, a desperate look of defeat.

"How can Andrew, how can _I,_ how can I be myself if that's what will happen?"

Harry was still in shock. "That's terrible, Draco, I'm so sorry."

Draco laughed again, but his voice was hollow. "I'm used to it. I bet being Andrew would be better. Anything would be better." He said this last more to himself than to Harry.

It happened in a flash; Harry had crossed the two feet of distance that separated them and pressed his lips against Draco's. Harry's hand was on the back of Draco's neck, gently stopping him from pulling away.

The contact was electric; it shot through them both in an instant. Draco felt Harry's mouth moving against his, and he responded without thought. Without breaking the kiss, he moved so that their bodies met. The electricity seemed to increase. It seemed a lifetime before they separated.

Draco was breathing heavily and his head was swimming. He could feel the panic taking hold; he was going to lose himself again, and this wonderful, terrible moment would be gone. Desperate, he tried to tell Harry, tried to ask for help.

"Harry, I can't, I don't want to…" He couldn't finish, couldn't articulate it. He was afraid that Harry would think he meant that Draco didn't want him.

Harry understood, and nodded, but he didn't back off. "Draco would be falling over right now, or hurting himself. But Andrew and Daniel are here right now. Can you be Andrew, just for a while?" He knew this was a dangerous game to play, but the time for waiting was done.

Determination replaced the despair in Draco's eyes. Even if it was just for this one night, in this Room, he could be someone else, if it meant he could be someone else with Harry. Draco nodded, and smiled.

Draco kissed Harry then, deeply and with no fear, because it was Andrew and Daniel, but it would do for now.

X x X

There! I feel better now. Please comment (aka review) good, bad or indifferent (aka rox, sux, or meh.) If you can tell me what works for you and what doesn't, I'll appreciate the feedback. Thanks for hanging in with me and stay tuned for the next bit.


	12. Ch 12 Not Over Yet

Ch 12 Not Over Yet

There was something amazing happening. Draco leaned into Harry, unwilling to break contact. The kiss lasted forever, but it still ended too soon. Harry leaned back reluctantly and sat on his heels. The color was high in his cheeks, and his glasses were askew. Self-consciously he set them right again. He was suddenly shy and unsure. Draco had kissed him back, but the blond boy was so unpredictable, even in this place. He looked up into Draco's face, trying to see what to expect next.

Draco was also nervous. He had just had one of his most secret desires handed to him, and it was every bit as wonderful as he thought it would be. Unfortunately, he couldn't stop to enjoy it. It felt like half his being was trying to tear itself to pieces, the other half struggling to hold on to sanity and life. The moment they had broken contact, his self deception had crumbled, and the dreadful compulsion was once again trying to take control of his body and mind.

He dropped back into the cross-legged position, his chin dropped to his chest; his balled up fists pressed down on his knees.. He wasn't going to lose himself again, not now. Not when the impossible was finally looking possible. He drew as deep a breath as he could, fighting for every bit of air. The effort seemed to be paying off; at least he wasn't flailing around, or pounding his head on the floor.

Harry watched Draco, saw the tension that made the cords stand out on his neck, the muscles flexing in his jaw. "Can I…can I help at all?" He asked, unable to stand it any longer.

Draco gave a short laugh through clenched teeth. "If you can figure out what the hell is wrong with me, it would be a start." He couldn't look up at Harry.

"How long has this been happening?" Again, the desire to reach out and touch Draco was difficult to resist. His hand came up, hovered above Draco's clenched fist. The thought that it might make things worse was all that stopped him.

"I think…since my father showed me the portrait." Another labored breath. "He must have done this to me, the bastard."

"I'll bet," growled Harry, his hatred for Lucius Malfoy tripling. He shifted restlessly. "There must be a way around it," he said, aware that he was babbling. "You were able to shut it off for a few minutes there."

Draco smiled tightly. The memory of the kiss, even though it was only moments ago, felt distant. He wanted to say something, something like _best couple of minutes of my life,_ but his voice refused to obey. Even thinking about it seemed to give the hurtful force in his mind ammunition to use against him.

Seeing the little smile set Harry off. It was so unfair! Why couldn't they even _try _to be together? The block wouldn't let Draco do anything, wouldn't let him find out who he was. Everyone should have that chance. He was suddenly angry, filled with a rage he hadn't felt since coming back from the Ministry of Magic. "If we could just get _out of here,_ maybe someone could help you! This isn't fair, it isn't right!" He stood up, staring wildly around the Room of Requirement. _"Open the door, right now! Can't you see he's in trouble?"_ He bellowed at the empty air. He stalked over to the table, his trembling hand snatching up his wand from where it lay, practically forgotten. Trembling with fury, he started hurling spells at the stubbornly blank wall.

"Alohamora! Reducto! Descendium! Impedimenta! Finite! Reducto! _REDUCTO!"_

"Harry."

"Finite! Alohamora!"

"_Harry!"_

"Reducto reducto Reducto!"

"DANIEL!"

Harry froze in shock. He turned around slowly to see Draco looking at him.

Draco's eyes were tired, with dark circles that emphasized the fatigue. He seemed to be more in control of himself; whichever self that happened to be.

"Can't we sleep? I don't want to be awake anymore, not right now." The plea was in his voice, if not his face, which was still as impassive as he could manage.

Harry felt terrible. "Of course we can, D - Andrew. It seems like it's been the longest day." He was still angry and enormously frustrated, but his own exhaustion crashed over him and his knees wobbled a bit as went to gather some pillows. He retrieved the blankets and handed one to Draco.

Of course, now he had to decide where to sleep.

"Shall I go over there?" He asked, gesturing to the other end of the room.

"I wish you wouldn't," Draco said. "Surely things can't get worse while we sleep," he muttered, more to himself than to Harry.

Relieved but still worried, Harry pushed his stack of pillows to join the pile Draco had made. Finally, they both lay down to sleep. In a maddening show of helpfulness, the Room dimmed whatever it was using to keep the room lit, and a dusk-like dimness descended. Harry was careful to maintain a bit of distance, but sleep was not going to come easily, no matter how tired he was. He could hear Draco shifting, heard him roll onto his side to face away. Harry tried to convince himself that it didn't mean anything, it was just getting comfortable, but his mind was supplying all manner of nasty thoughts. Like, maybe Draco was really having trouble because he didn't really like Harry, or the worst thought, maybe it was an elaborate joke. Make Harry reveal his most secret self, the one no one else knew, then pretend, go along until the cursed Room let them go, then laugh at _queer_ Harry, who had a thing for blond boys.

_Shut up, shut up,_ he told that cruel part of his mind. _What if he really does like me like…I like him? _ And what if this curse or whatever was unbreakable? What if it stopped them from being together, no matter what they did?

What if it killed Draco?

_That's NOT going to happen!_ He screamed silently. His body fought to fight, fought to remain still at the same time. Harry pressed his face into the pillow and tried to breathe. The pillow smelled faintly of lavender, which seemed kind of strange, but it did have a calming effect. He tried another deep breath, but it caught about halfway through, like a half-sob, but he wasn't crying. He'd never practiced his occlumency very diligently, but right now, this instant, a blank mind was what he desperately wanted.

He was more than a little surprised that he got it, and so quickly. That surprise was the last thought he had before he dropped like a stone into a deep sleep.

Draco had rolled onto his left side, facing away from Harry. He too was almost too tired to sleep. The battle he was still fighting in his mind was draining him, stealing away even his resolve to keep fighting. _If it keeps on like this, is it worth it? How can I even think of it?_ A wave of despair swept over him, again. The empty eyes of the empty man stared out of the portrait at Draco, like the portrait itself was burned onto his eyelids. It was an image he'd stared at a lot, even before he came to this room. There had been times, out there in the real world of school, he'd have idle thoughts, when he wasn't vigilant enough. He might imagine a situation almost like this, Harry sleeping next to him like they weren't bitter enemies. But that _damned_ painting, it was so clear in his mind, like it was put there to take away any thoughts of what he really wanted and replace them with that horrible image.

Those were the times he hated being a Malfoy the most.

And often, it had lead to acts of cruelty to Harry and his friends. He realized that now. It was no excuse, really, he'd actually enjoyed a lot of the tricks and petty meanness he'd inflicted on, well, everyone. What else was he supposed to do? It was the one pleasure allowed him, and it was expected. To act otherwise would be suspicious, and suspicions lead to terrible things. Better to shift the heat elsewhere, so to speak.

What were the chances, really, that Harry Potter, The Boy Who Lived, Triwizard Champion and all that, having anything but contempt for him, Draco Malfoy, quintessential Slytherin and all-around bully?

But the miracle had happened, this stupid Room had forced them together, practically forced them to be friendly to each other, and Harry was _kind_ to him, understanding, forgiving. And most astonishing of all, _attracted to him._ It was almost too much to be believed.

And it looked like it could never be. Except for that one exquisite kiss, the slightest contact or sometimes even just emotion set him off into fits. The only thing that helped at all were those ridiculous pseudonyms Harry had come up with, and who knew how long that would help.

If there was one thing that was constant about Draco, however, it was his stubborn streak. He could despair only so long, before his determination kicked in and he was able to fight back, until it ended one way or another.

But not tonight. He was tired, he was hurt, physically and otherwise, and things looked bleak indeed. Tonight he allowed himself the luxury of feeling just a little sorry for himself, and wishing as quietly as he could in his own mind that Harry weren't so far away.

X x X

I realize this is quite a bit shorter than my usual update, and much longer in coming, but my Muse is being kind of finicky lately, and I'm having a hard time mustering the attention span to sit and write. I'm way too easily distracted, and I always forget about the music trick until about 3 in the morning. So hope this is up to snuff, or at least interesting. Reviews are welcomed with happy dances, cookies and shiny Internets. Flames make me smile, so throw me one of those if you like.


	13. Ch 13 Only In Dreams

Ch 13 Only in Dreams

Harry woke up still tired, as if he hadn't slept at all. He stared around at the now too-familiar walls for a long time, just thinking. This place had been a prison, a sanctuary, a blessing and a curse, but now all he could think of was getting out, so that he could help Draco. With all the distractions of school and his friends and the war peeled away, there was still someone he wanted to help. The idea that they could be together, that it was even a remote possibility, had lit a fire in Harry. The changes he'd seen in Draco may not stick, he may not be able to lead a life that directly opposed his family, his father.

But damn it, he wanted to try. They both did, Harry was sure of it.

Frustrated, Harry started to get up. That's when he realized that Draco's arm was draped across his chest, and the blond head was only inches away from his own. Draco seemed to be sleeping heavily, his breath warming a spot on Harry's shoulder.

Harry's restlessness faded into the background at the wonder of his situation. The pointed features looked less harsh in repose, less pinched. Still, there was the evidence of the past couple of days, or however long it had been. The crease between the eyebrows had deepened, and even now there seemed to be some tension there. Harry wished he could smooth it away, but he was still so afraid to touch Draco. Maybe now, though, while he slept…

Moving carefully so he wouldn't wake the other boy, Harry maneuvered himself so that he lay facing Draco, the reaching arm still bridging the distance between them. Harry's hand moved hesitantly to Draco's face, lightly tracing the small crease. Yes, there was still pressure on the muscles. There was no response at the touch, so Harry dared more. He let his fingertip trail lightly along the jaw-line, up and across the cheekbone, down the bridge of the nose. He paused, then brushed a gentle line across his lips. This got a reaction, but only a small intake of breath, no movement.

Harry found himself wishing desperately that Draco would wake up. If Draco woke right now, Harry could kiss him, could taste him. Kiss his throat, nip his earlobe. Harry's hand stole up to Draco's hairline, running his fingers through it. It was messy, but the way it fell across his sleeping face was beautiful. Yes, beautiful was the right word for him. At least, when he was sleeping. Awake, with the fire in his eyes and the sharp tongue, beautiful wasn't quite right. But here, now, it was perfect. Harry ran a fingertip around the convoluted lines of Draco's earlobe.

"You'd better stop that, Potter, unless you're really serious."

Harry almost jumped out of his skin. _Again._ "How do you keep doing that? Seem like you're asleep, but really be watching me?"

"Pretending to be asleep is a good way to hear things you're not supposed to hear," Draco said. He hadn't actually opened his eyes yet, but he moved his hand so it was resting on Harry's ribcage. A small smile pursed his lips. "Besides, you are fun to startle."

Emboldened by the teasing note in Draco's voice, Harry continued to trace little lines on the pale skin. "Is this bothering you?" he asked, a hint of real worry coming through.

"Since it's just a dream, no, not at all. In fact," and his smile widened, "it's not even a new dream."

Harry was a bit surprised; not bothered, but surprised. How long had Draco been thinking of him? He flushed, remembering a few of his own dreams. "Not for me either. Of course, in my dreams, you can look at me."

Draco's grin faded a little, and his eyes remained firmly shut. "Yes, this is a strange one. I've never had this dream take place anywhere except my bedroom, though, and if I find I'm not there…" He trailed off.

"Well, we're awfully lucky then, that in this dream, your eyes stay closed?" said Harry. He could wait no longer, and moved forward to press his mouth to Draco's. His seeking tongue pressed for entrance, and was warmly received. They remained that way, giving and taking in the kiss that seemed to be deeper every second, their hungry hands reaching for the other's body, neck, hair, arms, hips.

Harry broke the kiss, but moved his attention immediately to the pale skin of Draco's throat, touching and tasting exactly as he had wanted to minutes before. He found a place on the collarbone and sucked at the skin, bringing heat to the surface. Harry's explorations were hampered by Draco's shirt, so he sat up, intending to peel it off. What he saw when he tore his eyes away from Draco left him gaping.

"Draco, look!" Harry gasped.

Draco groaned. "Just when it was getting good," He was still keeping his eyes closed, but his breaths were coming short and fast. "Why do the good dreams always end so early?"

"You git, open your eyes and look around!"

Annoyed at the insulting word, Draco finally sat up and allowed his eyelids to flutter open. Then he too stared disbelievingly at their much altered surroundings.

They were no longer sitting on the floor on a pile of cushions; they had inexplicably become a large, obviously antique mahogany four-poster bed, dressed in forest green curtains, a matching green bedspread with contrasting cream colored sheets. All of the fabrics were the highest quality and also quite old, although it was difficult to know how he knew that. The rest of the room was richly decorated, with a large marble-faced fireplace on one wall and paintings of all sorts of things on the wall.

"This, this is my bedroom! I mean, it looks like…" His eyes fell on the small table in the corner. It still held a half-full bottle of fire whiskey. "But it's still the Room…"

Harry didn't let him finish. They could get around Draco's fits, but with this prime opportunity so generously provided by the Room of Requirement, he didn't intend to waste a moment. Harry grabbed the back of Draco's neck and pulled him in for a kiss. The bold motion earned a light moan of pleasure and Draco's hand twined into Harry's hair. The heat in the room seemed to skyrocket at the contact as Draco leaned into him, giving as good as he got.

They broke apart, gasping for breath, but only just far enough apart to let the air in. Draco's hand came up and brushed Harry's hair away from his eyes. Harry's glasses were askew, so he fixed that too. Funny, he barely noticed the glasses when they were kissing.

"Wow, Harry, want much, do you?" Draco said, aware of his rapid heartbeat. He could swear that he could see the thrumming pulse in Harry's neck.

"I don't want to miss any of the good stuff in this dream," Harry said, smiling, but he blushed. He didn't mean to seem so eager, but the suspense had been killing him, and having Draco respond to his touch like that was pure adrenaline.

It was Draco's turn to grin. "Well, this isn't exactly how my dreams go." He suddenly grabbed Harry by the hips and lifted him bodily, tipping him backwards onto the bed.

Harry was thrown back onto the soft bed, and Draco crawled over his prone body, placing himself firmly but lightly right on top of Harry's hips. He tugged at Harry's grey linen shirt, and Harry sat up enough for Draco to strip it off of him. He was pushed back again. Draco leaned down and kissed Harry; it was a commanding kiss, demanding a response, which it got. Harry couldn't help but respond, with the pressure on his hips and the mouth on his, with its demanding tongue; he moaned with pleasure. He was lost in the sensation, eyes closed hands limp at his sides, even unaware that his hips were trying to grind into Draco. When Draco's weight left him he almost cried out with disappointment.

His cry was cut off, though, when he felt Draco's lips moving down his chest, his tongue tracing wet lines all over. The sensation was too much, he felt he couldn't lay still for any more of this, then Draco flicked his tongue across Harry's nipple. Now he did cry out, a wordless sound that nevertheless meant 'oh, god!'

His body arched off the bed, reaching for Draco, and Harry's hands couldn't stay still anymore. He reached for Draco, grabbed him by the shoulders and dragging him on top of his own body for another kiss. He longed to flip them over, to return the favor, but he didn't think Draco would go for it. Not just yet. And he was right.

Draco reveled in the kiss. He knew he was making Harry crazy, and that dragging things out too long would be bad, but he couldn't resist a little teasing. How many times had he dreamed about having Potter in his bed, willing and responsive? How many times had he woken up to the thought that it could never, ever happen? Well. If this was a dream, he wanted to make it count.

He broke the kiss, looking into Harry's eyes. Gently he reached up and took hold of Harry's glasses, then paused. At a slight nod of acquiescence, he removed them and tossed them on the bedside table. Now he could really see those green eyes, surrounded by dark lashes. Harry's face had an almost aged look. Not wrinkled, but experienced. He'd been through a lot in his young life, but the only mark it seemed to have left was a look of knowing. And the scar, of course. Draco ignored the scar. He found Harry's neck and ears far more interesting. Straddling Harry's chest, he sought them out with his mouth, feeling how different the soft, soft skin of the earlobe was from the skin of the neck. There was a hint of whiskers sprouting; for some reason this made Draco happy. The slight roughness intrigued him. He could feel Harry's hands on him, unable to resist. His body responded, suddenly hypersensitive to the work-created calluses on Harry's hands.

Harry couldn't stop touching Draco's skin. It was so smooth, and the fine, almost invisible blond hairs made him feel even softer. He felt Draco shiver and pause in what he was doing to Harry's ears. Harry's hands moved to Draco's sides, where he could feel the ribs through the skin. Draco was thin, almost no extra flesh on his bones. Experimentally, Harry moved his fingers do Draco's nipples, applying a bit of pressure, moving his thumbs around them in circles. With satisfaction, Harry felt Draco's body tense, heard and felt the expletive muttered into his shoulder with hot breath.

"Oh, shit."

Harry smiled, but the situation was becoming urgent now. The pressure had been building since they'd started, but it was reaching epic proportions. He could also feel the heat of Draco's need against his chest. It was time something was done about that, for both their sakes.

"Draco," Harry started. Draco sat up, deliberately moving backwards to position himself above Harry's hips, but not settling down.

"Yes?"

"Can we-I mean, isn't it time-" he faltered. He'd never had to ask this sort of thing before, and Draco was so obviously teasing on purpose, he was almost afraid to ask. What was he supposed to say, _can we please have it off now before my head and my dick explodes?_

"Are you ready?" Still teasing, but his breath quickened.

Harry was a bit wary. "Ready for what exactly?"

Draco laughed softly. "I won't hurt you, I promise. But it is my dream, remember?"

Now a bit apprehensive, Harry tried to put a brave face on it. "Does that mean next time, it gets to be my dreams?"

Again a laugh. "Absolutely."

"Then can we _please_ have it off before I blow a gauge somewhere?"

"Ahhh," said Draco. "_That's_ the magic word."

X x X

Please don't kill me, but it's after midnight, I have to get up for work in the morning, and NaNoWriMo started 3 minutes ago! I wanted to post a new chapter before I got too entrenched in my NaNo project, but I really didn't expect it to turn out so pr0n-y. I'm actually surprised at myself, and I hope it's up to a decent standard, as it's really my first attempt at writing a scene like this. I realize it's not actual sex, but still. Let me know what you think of it, so I can improve in the next chapter. I will try to get it out before the end of NaNo, it'll make a nice break. Writing a serious novel? Stuck? Write H/D porn! w00t! Sorry about the long interval between updates too, finals, procrastination, family stuff, you know the drill. As always, fresh cookies and shiny internets to all reviewers, and con-crit rox my sox!


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